


In Lebanon

by SomethingBlue42



Series: In Lebanon Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Sexual Assault, Badass Castiel, Badass Dean Winchester, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Blood and Gore, Bodily Fluids, Bottom Dean Winchester, Castiel Drives the Impala (Supernatural), Castiel Has Patience (Supernatural), Castiel Has a Crush on Dean Winchester, Castiel Wears Dean Winchester's Clothes, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Child Death, Closeted Dean Winchester, Consent Issues, Conversations in the Impala (Supernatural), Daddy Issues, Dean Winchester Goes to Church on Sundays, Dean Winchester Has Daddy Issues, Dean Winchester Has a Sexuality Crisis, Dean Winchester Loves The Impala, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean Winchester's First Time With a Man, Destiel - Freeform, Domestic Violence, Drunk Driving, Drunk Sex, Drunken Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Forbidden Love, Frottage, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Gay Sex, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Homophobic John Winchester, Homophobic Language, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Impala Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, John Winchester A+ parenting, John Winchester Abuses Dean Winchester, M/M, Making Out in the Impala (Supernatural), Mechanic Dean Winchester, Mutual Pining, Nurse Castiel (Supernatural), Openly Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Sex in/on the Impala (Supernatural), Slow Burn, Smut, Terminal Illnesses, The Impala (Supernatural), Top Castiel (Supernatural), Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:40:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 87,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25235572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomethingBlue42/pseuds/SomethingBlue42
Summary: Castiel’s father is dying.As a registered nurse, he’s the obvious choice out of the four Novak boys to uproot his entire life to care for him, despite the fact that Castiel hasn’t spoken to his father in nearly 20 years. So he’s stuck living in rural Kansas with a cranky former pastor and a car that won’t run. Luckily the best mechanic in town takes interest in the broken-down classic, even convinces the old man to restore it. And that’s not the only thing Dean Winchester takes interest in.Except in Lebanon there are things you just don’t do and Dean knows the rules. You wave at your neighbor, your butt is in the pew on Sunday and boys DO NOT kiss other boys. Castiel can’t be with a guy who’s still in the closet and Dean can’t convince Castiel that it’s safer that way.That’s just how it is in Lebanon.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: In Lebanon Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939000
Comments: 297
Kudos: 456
Collections: Supernatural Trope Celebration 2020, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection, mp's favs





	1. Arrival in Lebanon

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SPN Trope Celebration! Art by the lovely [dmsilvisart](https://dmsilvisart.tumblr.com/) | [Art Masterpost](https://dmsilvisart.tumblr.com/post/624123982303674368/in-lebanon-art-masterpost)
> 
> Huge HUGE thank you to [Captain Haterade](https://captainhaterade.tumblr.com/) for her diligent beta-ing and wonderful feedback.
> 
> Onto the show!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: terminal illness mention

The Greyhound belched exhaust, stirring up the dry dust on the shoulder of Rt 281 and sent the tails of Castiel’s old trench flapping around his knees. He squinted, blowing air past his plush lips to keep it from floating into his mouth, waving a hand in front of his face as the bus pulled away, taking a slow right-hand turn at the junction with Rt 191.

Castiel ruffled his hair, heaving a sigh as he threw the heavy duffle over his shoulder to begin the hour-long walk into town. The wind whipped, blowing unhindered across the plains, and he looked around, marveling that he really could see for a hundred miles, a sharp contrast to the congested streets and high-rises of downtown Chicago. A sign some distance away declared “Welcome to Lebanon: Center of the 48 States!” He snorted at that. Of course his absent father would end up here; he considered himself the center of the universe, after all.

His phone rang in his pocket and he struggled to adjust the duffle to his other shoulder before digging into his coat pocket to pull it out. 

He clenched his teeth as he brought it to his ear. “What?”

“Hello to you, too, baby brother.” Gabriel’s voice was a sing-song taunt Castiel had been familiar with since birth. “You get to town okay?”

“I’ve got about an hour worth of walking.”

A pause. “Wait, what? I thought you were renting a car.”

“And what was I supposed to do with it once I got to Howard’s?” Castiel snapped. “There’s not exactly an Avis in downtown Lebanon.”

Gabriel’s sigh rattled through the line. “Look, I’d be there if I could-”

“Yeah.” Castiel cut him off, not wanting to hear the platitudes again.

“-but I’ve got the kids and- “

“I get it.”

“- and Michael can’t leave the business-”

“I said, I get it!” Castiel cringed as his voice echoed down the empty highway. “Luc won’t forgive him and I’m a registered nurse. It just makes sense for me to do it.” He rolled his eyes as he finished Gabriel’s train of thought before it could be relayed to him again. No matter how many times he heard it or how much sense it made, it still infuriated him.

“He’s your dad, too, ya know,” Gabriel said, not unkindly.

“Coulda fooled me,” Castiel muttered as a car whipped past him. It was a classic, black, blaring a rock song he thought he recognized but couldn’t place. He watched a tan arm surf the air stream out the driver’s side window until the car was a mere speck against the old downtown skyline.

“He regrets-”

“I’m sure he does,” Castiel cut him off and picked up his pace. “Anything else?”

The line was silent for a moment. “No. Hey, Castiel?”

“What?”

“Thank you.” Gabriel’s voice held a warmth Castiel rarely heard and that place in his heart that loved his brothers unconditionally ached. He hung up without saying goodbye.

It was nearing dark when Castiel reached the old farmhouse, stopped on the gravel at the mouth of the drive, and looked up at the dark second story. Placing a hand on the dented metal mailbox, he lowered his head and took a deep breath. Castiel did not pray, not since he’d been a small child. He saw no reason to pick the habit back up, but still found himself willing the universe to get him out of this. Please, just don’t make him face that man again.

When Castiel lifted his gaze he jumped, finding a body framed by the large picture window, seated in an easy chair. Castiel felt his face color. Keeping his head down, he stomped up the gravel drive, mounting the stairs and stepping to the door. Castiel stopped, his hand reaching for the doorknob. Should he knock?

He jumped when the door swung open and immediately stood straighter, his throat suddenly sandpaper dry. The old man in front of him was unexpectedly small, hunched with age and leaning heavily on a cane, a large, gnarled hand still on the door to keep his balance. They appraised each other.

“You just gonna stand there?”

His father’s voice was a rough rasp. Castiel shook his head, anger igniting under his skin as he reached for the screen door, moving to step in. The old man shuffled backwards, shaking with the effort, and Castiel dropped his duffle in the hall, reaching for him on instinct.

“Come on, let’s get you into a chair.”

“I don’t need a chair.” The old man slapped at him, wobbling his way back into the front room to fall like a sack of potatoes into the chair by the window. “The girl put together a bed for you upstairs.” He didn’t look at Castiel when he said it, addressing the window, instead, his hand still on his cane. That was the extent of Castiel’s first exchange with his father in nearly twenty years.

He wasted as much time as he could unpacking his clothes and hanging them in the closet, then putting his toiletries in the bathroom. He sat on the end of the bed, placing his head in his hands for a moment before scrubbing his face hard and looking around the compact room. A metal-frame bed flanked by whitewashed end tables and a heavy oak bureau, white linens, white gossamer curtains. A room devoid of color, giving nothing away, like the rest of the house. Like his father. 

Castiel made his way back downstairs, finding his father still at the window. He stepped up beside him, surveying the view of an interminable stretch of two lane road, a low patch of scrub brush separating it from a field that stretched for miles. Castiel waited a beat, but no cars passed. No animals skittered in and out of the brush. The trees barely swayed. 

Castiel heaved a sigh. “Are you hungry? I can make dinner.”

“Not much in there. The girl comes tomorrow with the groceries. Well, she used to. I guess you’ll be doing that now.”

Castiel looked down at his father, the old man’s rheumy eyes scanning back and forth across the yard, mouth moving in the way old folks had when their dentures were loose. Castiel looked back out, wondering what the old man was seeing. He sighed again.

“I can go get some things. Where are your keys?”

The old man turned as best he could in the chair to peer up at his youngest son. “What now?”

“Keys.” Castiel enunciated a little louder.

His father snorted. “Ain’t got no car.”

Castiel went stock still, his blood pressure rising though no one else would know. He blinked before rallying his patience. “Gabe said you had a car.”

“Don’t.” The old man continued pushing his dentures against the inside of his lips.

Castiel rubbed his head hard. “I specifically asked- you know what?” He cut himself off pulling out his phone and jabbing at Gabriel’s number before bringing the device to his ear. It rang once.

“Dammit, Castiel, couldn’t you have waited like 10 more minutes before calling me,” Gabriel whined and Castiel blinked. “Now I owe Luc 20 bucks.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Sorry. Look, uh…” Castiel turned his back. “Howard says he doesn’t have a car?”

A pause, then a heavy sigh. “Give Dad the phone.”

Castiel turned back to his father and offered him the phone. He jumped, giving it an affronted glare. “The devil is that?”

Castiel blinked as Gabriel’s voice, soft and tinny, issued from the device. “It’s an iPhone, Dad. You know what an iPhone is. Stop fucking with him.”

Howard lifted a shaky hand, taking the phone from Castiel and nearly fumbling it with his stiff, arthritic fingers. “I ain’t doing nothing to nobody. And that’s some way to talk to your father.” 

Castiel could hear Gabriel chattering but couldn’t make out what was being said. Howard continued playing with his dentures and it almost looked to Castiel as if some kind of animal was trying to push its way out. A snake, perhaps. Suddenly his father’s face screwed up, and he leaned back in the chair, reaching to rub his wrinkled forehead.

“Oh, you meant the Buick? Well, he’s welcome to it. Ain’t run in damn-near ten years.”

Castiel’s fists balled at his sides and he brought one up to his mouth, biting on his knuckles to stifle the string of expletives he wanted to let fly. He huffed and held out a hand. “Give me the phone.”

Howard gave him a side-eye and continued to talk. “Yeah, we got an auto shop. Got a post office and bank, too. Just like the big city, ‘cept without the crime and immigrants.”

Castiel’s face flashed hot, even though he was the only one there to hear the derogatory remark. “Give me the phone, please.”

Howards face screwed up again, his free hand waving in a stop gesture that Gabriel couldn’t see. “Yeah, yeah. We’re gettin’ along fine.” Howard cut his eyes at Castiel, his upper lip curling in distaste. “Looks like his mother-”

Castiel let his head hang back in frustration before he lost it and snatched the phone away. “Gabriel…”

“If you kill him, you just spent two days on a bus for nothing,” Gabriel said. Castiel took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hang in there, little brother.”

He hung up without saying goodbye, rubbing his thumb over the black screen as he rallied his patience. “There doesn’t happen to be a taxi service around here, does there?”

“‘Course,” Howard gave a deep nod, eyes out on the road again. Castiel waited.

“Do you have the number?”

Howard waved a hand over his shoulder, indicating somewhere at the back of the house. “Yella’ Book’s by the phone.” 

As Castiel stalked away, deciding he’d rather hunt all over the house for it than ask Howard any more questions, the old man heaved and coughed. It was a wet, rough sound followed by a violent gasp for breath. Castiel looked around, his heart slowing, vision going sharply into focus as his training took over. He grabbed an inhaler off the TV tray on the other side of the arm chair and gently cupped the back of his father’s head as he guided it to his lips. The old man’s hand flailed at him—whether in panic or to swat him away, Castiel didn’t know—but he got his lips around it and Castiel fired the trigger, a soft hiss accompanying Howard’s deep gasp. 

He did push Castiel away then, closing his mouth on more coughs, reaching into the pocket of his cardigan to pulling out a wad of tissue. He hacked and spit into it before sucking in another great breath, then fell limply back against the chair. Castiel stayed close, watching his hand moving from the back of his father’s head to the side of his neck, checking his pulse.

Howard slapped his hands away, finally. “I’m fine!” Castiel didn’t respond, just placed the inhaler back on the tray and moved to exit the room and resume his search for the phone book. Howard’s voice stopped him, “You won’t be able to get that car to start. Best call for a tow while you’re gettin’ a taxi.”

Castiel paused only to grit his teeth before sucking in a deep breath and moving on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
> 
> [Visit me on Tumblr](https://deanwinchesterfirstofhisname.tumblr.com)   
> 


	2. Tune Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel takes the Buick in for a tune-up and meets a very persuasive mechanic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by the lovely [dmsilvisart](https://dmsilvisart.tumblr.com)
> 
> Chapter Warnings: None

Castiel’s heart thundered in his chest, barely audible over the rhythmic glug of the old Buick’s engine, a high ticking noise playing harmony with the occasional squeal as he shifted gears. He’d managed to jerkily maneuver the giant boat of a car out of the dilapidated barn but was unprepared for how the engine seemed to throw him forward of its own volition, punctuated by a particularly loud glug that could be considered by some to be a bang. 

He was sweating as he pulled gingerly into the lot of Singer’s Auto and Salvage; the car issuing a real bang as he put it in park, acrid smoke issuing from the tailpipe. He rested his head on the steering wheel and breathed in slowly. How was this his life, now? Just a month ago he was riding the El with a Starbucks cup in his hand, dreading or anticipating a twelve-hour shift.

Castiel jumped at a knock on the window and peered up to find an older man in coveralls with tousled hair and a few days’ growth of beard looking down at him. He moved to get out of the car, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans.

“What the hell you do to this thing?”

Castiel blinked and looked back at the car, smoke still drifting lazily from the tailpipe. “Uh… well… I guess I need a tune-up?”

The older man laughed, a loud braying sound not unlike a donkey, and Castiel fought a frown. “My guess is you need more’n a tune-up. Come on.” He waved a hand and ambled over to a door in the side of a metal structure attached to the garage that Castiel assumed served as the office.

The noise inside was deafening, the whirring of drills and clicks of ratchets mixing with the classic rock on the radio and the heavy thrum of a V8 engine. Castiel looked toward the sound, finding a beat-up truck trembling in the bay closest to the counter that separated the office from the garage. The hood was up, a young man buried underneath it, biceps flexing against the arms of his black t-shirt. Castiel averted his eyes, looking at the older mechanic again as he pulled out a form. The patch on his coveralls said “John” in looping script.

“What seems to be the trouble, Mr…” 

Castiel blinked at him before realizing he was asking his name. “Novak.” John tilted his head closer and squinted, unhearing. Castiel raised his voice. “Novak!” And the engine cut off but his voice didn’t have time to rebound so he ended up yelling “Castiel Novak” so loud it echoed off the high ceiling. 

Castiel’s cheeks pinkened, eyes scanning the garage and counting the eyes currently on him. The young man at the truck snorted a laugh as he slammed the truck door, returning to his place under the hood. Castiel felt his ears heat up.

“Alright, uh… Castiel?” John pronounced it slow, hitting every syllable like his voice was a hammer.  _ Cas-tee-el. _ “What d’you do to that poor machine out there?”

Castiel blinked again. “Well it’s my dad’s, and it’s been sitting for a while- “

“How long?” John asked not looking up from his paperwork and Castiel noticed the young mechanic hadn’t leaned back into the engine of the truck yet, wiping his hands absentmindedly on a towel.

“Uh… I think he said about ten years.”

John looked up at him with wide eyes, his brow drawing in what Castiel thought might be fury, but his eyes caught on the younger mechanic again, finding him leaning against the front fender of the truck, eyes squinted as if listening. Castiel reached up to rub the back of his neck.

“You  _ drove _ it here?” John questioned, his eyes going narrow and Castiel could feel his skin prickle at the tone, irritation causing his nostrils to flare. John was just opening his mouth when the young mechanic made a quick beeline over to them. “Do you know what kind of damage-?”

“‘ey Dad,” the younger man hit the older on the shoulder with the rag in his hand to get his attention. John looked back at him, clearly perturbed. “Bobby needs you in the back.” He jutted a grease-stained thumb over his shoulder. His eyes met Castiel’s. “I’ll handle this.”

John grumbled as the younger man clapped a hand on his shoulder as he passed to amble back across the garage. Castiel watched him with furrowed brows, but the rustling of the papers drew his attention back. 

“Sorry about that, uh… wow, you’re gonna have to pronounce that for me, I’m sorry.” He chuckled, pointing to John’s chicken scratch of his name.

“Castiel. Novak.” He was struck dumb by the brilliant smile the young man gave him, all straight white teeth and plush lips, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Dean Winchester.” He held out his hand and Castiel took it automatically, staring into the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. A line from an Elton John song echoed in the back of his cranium unhelpfully. Dean’s smile turned uneasy and Castiel broke their gaze, releasing his hand to find his own coming back greasy. “Oh shit, man, sorry about that.” Dean offered him the towel.

“Occupational hazard, I imagine.” Castiel felt his voice rumble in his chest as he carefully wiped his fingers. He heard Dean chuckle, then excuse himself to go wash his hands.

Once he returned he grabbed up the clipboard again and asked, “What seems to be the problem?”

“I drove a car here that hasn’t been operated in ten years and I think I offended your father in doing so.”

Dean’s eyebrows raised as he looked over his shoulder at his father back in the garage before looking down at the clipboard again. “That’ll do it. Make and model?” Dean looked up at him expectantly, and Castiel felt his ears burn again.

“Uh, it’s a Buick. And… it’s…” Castiel swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling as if his cheeks might burn off his face. “It’s white.” He winced, but Dean had the decency to bite his bottom lip and try to disguise his laugh as a cough.

“Not much of a car guy are you?” Dean quipped, grabbing up a clipboard before rounding the desk. “It’s out here?” Dean gestured with his pen.

Castiel merely pressed his lips together and looked at the floor, holding a hand out to indicate Dean should lead the way. Dean pushed open the door and Castiel ran right into his back as the young man stopped abruptly once outside. Castiel backpedaled immediately, the sudden heat of another body against his setting off alarm bells.  _ Do not touch _ . 

“I’m sorr- “

“Is that it?” Dean asked pointing with his pen in astonishment at the giant boat of a coupe, parked haphazardly in the middle of the lot. 

“Yep,” Castiel said, worming his way out of the door frame to stand next to Dean. “White Buick.”

Dean looked up at him and blinked before turning his head to the car again. “Well, that was unexpected. 70s Gran Sport,” Dean mused, pursing his full lips. “Nice.”

Castiel hurried to follow as Dean took off at a quick walk, eyeing the body of the car critically as he got closer. He squinted, craning his neck before walking around the back of the car, brows drawn. “1970?”

Castiel shrugged, lips pressing together in an embarrassed smile. Dean shook his head in disbelief, continuing his revolution around the car, running a hand reverently over the passenger side door. He rounded the front of the vehicle, reaching for the hood, and it went up with a defiant screech.

“Holy shit.”

Castiel rounded the front of the car, fearing the worst, but nothing looked terribly wrong. Not that he would know. The young mechanic’s eyes were large, almost in awe as he looked open mouthed at Castiel. Castiel felt uncomfortable, looking from Dean to the engine in confusion.

“Dude… this is a Stage One. A  _ 455 _ Stage One!”

Castiel looked down at the engine and indeed there was a dirty decal that said “Stage One” right there on the engine block. Engine block? Was that what that’s called? He jumped as the back of Dean’s hand hit him hard in the sternum.

“Where did you say you got this?” Dean was circling again, eyes roving hungrily over the body of the car before shoving his head in the driver's side window.

“It’s my dad’s.” Castiel rubbed the back of his neck and Dean extricated himself from the window, squinting as he stepped to him again.  _ Yours are the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. _ Castiel frowned. That’s not right.

“Novak.” Dean rubbed his hands together as he regarded Castiel. “You’re one of Howard’s boys?”

Castiel smiled sardonically. “The youngest.”

Dean gave a nod, giving him a quick once over that made the hair on the back of Castiel’s neck stand up. Dean sucked in a deep breath, looking over at the car again and scratching his ear. 

“What are you looking to do with it?”

“… um… just a tune-up, I guess.” Dean narrowed his eyes. “Oil change. Radiator… something.”

Dean snorted, shaking his head. “Crank the engine, will you?”

Finally, something Castiel could actually do. He opened the driver’s side door with an ear-splitting screech and fell into the seat. He turned the key and a loud scratching sound issued from somewhere under the hood.

“Stop!” 

Dean yelled as if Castiel had gutted him. Castiel peered out of the window, trying to see Dean around the open hood. “You drove this here?”

Castiel sighed as he pulled himself out of the driver's seat. “Yes.”

“When was the last time it was started?” Dean’s brows were deeply drawn as he looked at the engine critically.

“No idea.”

Dean sighed. “You didn’t happen to siphon the tank and put fresh gas in before you fired it up, did you?” Castiel winced as he shook his head. Dean winced, too, biting his lip as if he’s afraid to ask. “Add any fluids?” Castiel shook his head again and Dean sighed, muttering a soft “Woo, boy,” under his breath.

“I apologize in advance for this dumb question,” Castiel began and Dean looked up at him with raised eyebrows, “but is there any way this thing will be drivable tomorrow?” Dean let a bark of laughter escape him before clapping his hand over his mouth. Castiel sighed, “That’s what I thought.” He rubbed his forehead hard.

“I gotta tell you, Cas,” Dean said shaking his head and Castiel bristled at the shortening of his name. “You got… you got a lot of work here…” Dean squinted and braced his hands on the fender, reaching in to poke at some things. 

“Great,” Castiel grumbled, fishing his phone out of his pocket and opening Gabriel’s text window.

_ The fucking car doesn’t run. _

“This is a sa-weet ride, though.” Dean shook his head and puffed out a breath, his eyes crawling all over it like it was a beautiful woman on display before him. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth before fixing Castiel with an intense stare. “How about this?” Dean tucked the clipboard under his arm and swaggered over to Castiel, a contemplative look on his face. 

Castiel jumped as Dean reached around him to place a hand on his shoulder blade, guiding him a little ways away from the Buick, his hand warm through the thin flannel of Castiel’s shirt.“I can get you a loaner from the yard,” Dean jutted a thumb over his shoulder and Castiel looked past him at the line of junk cars. “Put you in something that runs while I work on getting you a comprehensive estimate.”

Castiel’s phone buzzed in his hand. Gabriel.  _ How much to fix? _

“Uh,” Castiel intoned his eyes still on his text message and he quickly beat out a reply,  _ Don’t know. Mechanic just used the words “comprehensive estimate.” _

Almost immediately,  _ Shit. _

“Hey, man, it’s already over here,” Dean reasoned, opening his arms at his side and shrugged. “No charge for an estimate.” Dean looked over his shoulder at the line of cars, craning his neck to try to see into the next row. “And I did see a Monte Carlo somewhere over there. Think it only needed an alternator.”

Dean’s hand was back on Castiel’s shoulder blade as he guided him over to a line of cars. Castiel felt warm all over, the heavy weight of Dean’s palm reminding him just how long it’d been since he’d had physical contact with someone without latex between them. Gloves, he meant. Of course. He scratched at his ear.

“Does… that have good gas mileage?”

Dean burst out laughing, a silent sound, his body curling into it before sucking in a great breath. “Nah, but you won’t be able to keep the ladies off you.”

Castiel’s lips quirked up in an amused smirk. “Just what I always wanted.” He didn’t think that Dean got the sarcasm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are<3


	3. A Night Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel lets his new co-workers take him out for drinks. Howard makes him regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: mild homophobia, bodily fluid mention

Castiel’s first day at the county hospital began with an abscess exploding onto his brand new scrubs and ended with him nearly dislocating his shoulder in an attempt to subdue a tweaker with superhuman strength, courtesy of methamphetamine. He had planned on declining the invitation to drinks with his new coworkers but gave in when he realized the only thing that awaited him at home after his twelve-hour shift was Howard’s company.

Harvelle’s Road House was a ramshackle establishment but the only bar open until 2 am for a hundred square miles. Castiel trailed Anna through the front door, surprised at the size of the crowd for midnight on a Thursday. Lights striated through the room from the dance floor on the far side of the space, but no one was dancing, content to mingle around high top tables or by the bar. Kevin waved from a claimed table, Meg’s lips curling up as she locked eyes with Castiel. They made their way over, Castiel looking around, trying to get his bearings. 

It wasn’t until he was climbing up onto a barstool that his eyes landed on a familiar face across the room. Dean Winchester leaned casually back against the bar in a plaid button-down open over a gray t-shirt and jeans. The heel of his boot was hooked over the foot rail as he glanced from the girl at his right to the girl on his left, his eyes crinkled in a smile. Either Dean felt the weight of Castiel’s stare or merely caught sight of him as he turned his head, Castiel wasn’t sure, but Dean’s eyes managed to find his. Castiel could feel his face mirror the look of surprise on Dean’s, though not for the same reason. Meg’s hand found its way to his thigh and Castiel looked down at it for a moment, feeling the pads of her fingers give a squeeze. Castiel swallowed hard and looked up. Dean nodded his head in greeting and grinned before the girl on his right stole his attention again, touching his hand and speaking directly into his ear. Dean’s eyebrows raised before he turned his head to give her a dark smirk.

“Beers all around?” Anna asked and everyone at the table agreed heartily.

“I’ll help you carry.” As Castiel rose from his seat, Meg’s hand slid off his leg; he gave her a tight smile as she pouted up at him. Smoothing his shirt down as he moved around the table, Castiel tried to ignore the fact that Dean’s eyes were tracking him as he followed Anna to the bar.

Anna wedged her way between the girl on Dean’s right and a man in a camo cap that had his back turned, watching the TV behind the bar. Castiel merely stared at the shelves of bottles, hands tucked casually in his pockets as Anna tried to get the bartender’s attention. From the corner of his eye he saw Dean place a light hand on the girl’s shoulder and their bodies slid against each other as she traded places with him, engaging the other girl in conversation as Dean turned to lean an elbow onto the bar, his attention on Anna.

“Hey, Anna.” Dean was pondering the side of her face and she merely cut her eyes at him. He continued watching her for a moment before he pulled his gaze away to look at Castiel. “Hey, Cas. How’s the Monte treating you?” Dean held out his hand, and Castiel extricated one of his to take it.

Dean’s grip was firm and warm, thick fingers wrapping around his hand, calloused palm scuffing against the soft heel of his hand. Dean held on for a moment longer than Castiel expected, waiting for a small quirk of his lips before releasing him.

“It’s doing just fine.” Castiel dipped his head in thanks and Dean grinned. The bartender slammed a beer bottle down in front of him as she passed, not even giving them a glance. Anna lifted a hand and opened her mouth but Jo was already halfway down the bar.

“Too slow, you gotta speak up darlin.’” Anna rolled her eyes as Dean brought the bottle to his lips asking, “How do you know Anna?” 

Castiel regarded the back of Anna’s head, watching her resolutely ignore Dean to glare after the bartender. “Uh… we work together.”

Dean’s eyes widened as he swallowed, reaching up to rub his mouth with the back of his hand. “Shit, are you a doctor?”

Castiel snorted a laugh. “No, no.” He waved his hand. “RN.” He was prepared for Dean’s hearty laugh, but not for the look of impressed contemplation while he gave Castiel a once-over.

“Nurse, huh?”

“Yes, Dean,” Anna interrupted, turning her head to him finally. “Nursing, it’s not just for porn anymore.” 

She gave Dean a tart smile, and he gave her an even wider grin, holding her gaze for a moment before allowing it to slide down the bar to where the bartender was chatting with a group of young men, clearly smitten with her. Dean tilted his chin up and the girl rolled her eyes, stomping over as if she clearly didn’t want to.

“What do you want? I just got you a beer.”

Dean gave her a sardonic smile. “Yes, but these fine people would now like something.” He gestured to both Anna and Castiel before folding his hands against his chest and hooking an elbow onto the bar as he crossed one ankle over the other. 

The bartender glared harder at Dean before her expression shifted to politely regarding Anna. “Hey, what can I get you?”

“Hey, Jo,” Anna said with a tone that suggested they had been allies against Dean’s shenanigans before. “Four bottles please.”

Jo’s eyes slid to Castiel. She jutted her chin up. “Who’s the tax accountant?”

Castiel’s face showed mild shock, and Dean nearly spit out the drink he just took. Anna hit Dean hard in the sternum with the back of her hand. “This is Castiel. He just moved here. And he got down a meth head on a three-day bender with almost no help on his first shift, so he deserves an extra cold one.”

Dean’s eyebrows lifted as if deeply impressed, his eyes falling back on Castiel. Castiel could feel his face warm. “I’ll take whatever temperature you have.” He muttered, which caused a sputter of laughter from all three of them. 

Jo tapped the bar with her open palm. “Coming right up.”

“When you say…” Dean trailed, opening his hands in front of him as he paused. “‘Takedown’ what exactly are we talking about here? Like, grabbed his arms to get him into restraints or full-on wrestling match in the middle of triage?”

“I’m talking escaped a headlock, swept the dude’s feet out from under him, and body-slammed him to the floor.” Anna mimicked Dean’s pose, her eyes cutting to Castiel, who was sure they could see his blush now. “Didn’t even have to call for security.”

“Damn, dude.” Dean’s hand shot out to hit Castiel on the arm. “Don’t piss off the nerdy nurses.” Dean grinned to assure him the insult was in jest. Castiel gave him a prim smile in return, which made Dean laugh.

Jo was back with her fingers curled around four open bottles, setting them on the bar as Anna dropped her card onto the bar. “Open a tab for me will you?” Her eyes flicked back to Cas. “We usually take turns paying and all just Venmo at the end of the night.”

Castiel nodded, feeling a thin sliver of panic at the state of his bank account, but tried not to think about it. Dean grabbed up one of the beers before Anna could grab it and handed it to Castiel, who took it dumbly. Dean clinked the neck of his bottle against his with a grin and then took a drink. Castiel drank as well, his throat suddenly very dry. 

Anna grumbled as she gathered the other bottles between her fingers as Jo had done, her eyes cutting between the two men as she muttered, “How do you two even know each other?” under her breath before shaking her head at Dean’s innocent “what?” expression. Anna merely rolled her eyes, moving to push past Castiel. “Be careful around that one.” Anna tossed a look at Dean over her shoulder. “He’s trouble.”

Dean looked positively elated as Anna retreated back to the table, his voice rising as he called after her. “Yeah, you like trouble, you know it.” 

Anna didn’t turn and Castiel watched as Dean’s eyes slid down over her ass, his plush lip pulling between his teeth. Castiel brought the bottle to his lips and drank deeply. He jumped when he felt Dean’s fingers brush against his bicep.

“I’ve known Anna since kindergarten,” Dean said, nodding over at her before craning his neck back to regard Jo as she passed. “Known Jo since she was in diapers,” he called and received a middle finger as she passed by them again. Castiel let out a soft huff of a laugh, which made Dean smile. “You’ll find everyone here knows everybody.” Dean paused. “Where are you from, anyway?”

Castiel cleared his throat. “Uh, Chicago.”

Dean grinned. “City boy, huh?”

Castiel brought his beer to his lips to hide his smile and his blush. “Terminally.”

Dean shoved a hand in his front pocket. “What’s your team?”

Castiel squinted. “My… team?”

“Yeah, your team. Bears?”

“Oh. Uh… sorry. I don’t really follow sports.”

Dean blinked at him, his neck jutting back as he looked across the bar, and Castiel could practically see the cogs turning in his head. “Wait, what?” he exclaimed finally, his face scrunching up as his arms spread, his beer bottle hanging precariously between thumb and forefinger. “What do you  _ do? _ ”

Castiel blinked. “Like for a hobby?”

Dean rubbed his forehead and Castiel couldn’t tell if he was genuinely shellshocked or he was just pulling Castiel’s leg. “Or with all that space in your head that’s reserved for stats.”

“I use that for all the medical stuff that keeps people alive.” Castiel tipped his bottle back, hoping Dean couldn’t see his smile, as the other man sobered instantly. “And the Bible. Can’t seem to scrape that out of there.”

Dean let out a bark of a laugh. “Hazard of being a preacher’s kid.” Castiel gave him a beleaguered nod. “Your old man wasn’t so bad.”

Castiel stiffened, watching Dean take a drink as his eyes scanned the room and Castiel felt almost betrayed. He must have taken too long to respond because Dean’s eyes caught on him again, his eyebrows lifting in question before his face went sober.

“I mean… I don’t really know him that well. We went to his church before my mom…” Dean cut the sentence off abruptly and it was Castiel’s turn to raise his eyebrows, the other man’s eyes wide with something…

_ Fear? Yours are the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen… _

Castiel shook his head. “I’ll send him your regards.” Dean gave him a weak smile, bringing the bottle back up to his lips and looked away, eyes snagging on the pool table.

“Hey you wanna-“

Castiel felt a pair of hands land squarely on his chest, nails digging in enough to send a shiver down his spine and goosebumps spreading over his arms. He jumped, nearly dropping the bottle in his hands and looked down into Meg’s dark eyes, her crimson lips pulled into a smirk. 

“Dance with me.”

Castiel’s eyes shot to Dean, who was looking at Meg bemusedly, his arms crossing over his chest, shifting from foot to foot. “Uh… I don’t think anyone is…” Castiel trailed as he looked to the now nearly full dance floor, bodies gyrating together.

Meg tugged on the lapels of Castiel’s shirt. “No one can resist the pull of Britney Spears.” Dean seemed vaguely disgusted but amused, at the same time when Castiel glanced his way.

“Come on.” 

Before Castiel could protest, his beer was plucked out of his hand and discarded on the bar. He looked over his shoulder helplessly and Dean just gave him a gape-mouthed smile and an enthusiastic thumbs up. Castiel figured out all too late he was one of the few men on the dance floor and certainly the only sober man. He spotted Anna dancing next to a few other girls and her eyes widened when she saw him, her mouth opening in a joyful holler that was drowned in high-pitched strings. 

Meg’s arms slithered around his waist, one leg going between both of his as she began to grind against him, tossing her auburn hair back and forth. Castiel had no choice but to reciprocate, resting his arms on her shoulders and grabbing a wrist with the opposite hand. Meg looked up at him, elated, and really getting into it, then, and Castiel felt a smile pull at his lips. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed dancing.

With a final flurry of high-pitched strings, the song ended, morphing into a lazy twang. The dreamy, mysterioso opening riff was like a mating call, the men leaning against the walls suddenly flocking to the dance floor to find their mate. Meg pressed in close and Castiel swallowed hard, immediately uncomfortable being pressed chest to chest, belly to belly and crotch to crotch with a coworker. Her arms snaked up around his neck, dark eyes dancing, and Castiel knew she was planning her own wicked game for them. His hands stuttered at her waist before settling gently, and he hoped was neutrally, on her hips. It’d been a while since he’d had a woman try to seduce him on the dance floor. 

He turned his head, eyes searching for anything rather than settle on those burning eyes, and his gaze landed on Dean, sidled up to a blond in tight jeans and an open-backed top that tied at the base of her spine. Castiel’s throat went dry, seeing Dean’s large hand splayed across the bare skin of the girl’s back, his face lowered to the top of her head as she rested her head on his chest. His other hand held hers over his heart. 

Castiel hadn’t meant to stare and was embarrassed when he looked to Dean’s face again and found him staring back at him. His face morphed into a grin before nodding down at the girl in his arms and gave Castiel a roguish wink. Castiel smiled back weakly, looking down at Meg again. She was grinding subtly against him, teasing, but he was well within his control. He smiled kindly at her before he brought his hands to her arms.

“You should know something about me.”

Meg leaned in closer, her breath fanning his lips. “What’s that?”

“I’m gay.”

Meg reared back abruptly, leaning away from him at the waist and Castiel’s hands moved around her back, worried for a moment that she would tumble backward, and with their legs tangled she would take him with her. Her face looked shocked, the kind of shock he hadn’t seen since he was a teenager and something unsettled in his stomach, a sliver of fear he’d almost forgotten. Meg’s head whipped, taking in the people around them, but no one was paying attention to them. Not even Dean, his eyes locked with his blond, his hand coming up to brush her hair from her face. The look on his face was smoldering, and Castiel swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. Meg recovered quickly, leaning in close to him again, her hand cupping the back of his neck. Castiel’s brows furrowed as she resumed the sexy smirk.

“Might wanna keep that one to yourself, big boy,” she purred and Castiel’s eyebrows shot to his hairline, looking around as her eyes indicated he should. 

The dance floor was filled with pretty little women and quintessential men’s men in chambray shirts and Ducks Unlimited ball caps. He felt a prickling rage begin at the back of his neck and crawl all the way down his spine, causing him to square his shoulders and give her a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“I think I can handle it.”

Meg coughed out a laugh, but before she looked away, he saw regret in her dark eyes. “Whatever you say, buddy. It’s your funeral.”

###

Castiel pulled into the driveway, bone-tired and wanting his bed, but sat behind the wheel for a good five minutes before mustering the will to go inside. He could see Howard in the window, staring at him as he made his way up the walk, as that prickle of rage at the back of his neck resumed tingling. He shoved it down as he entered the house.

“Thought your shift ended at midnight.” 

Castiel sighed, hanging his trench coat on the rack by the door, and dropped his keys in the bowl on the entryway table. “Thought you went to bed around eight.”

“I do.” Castiel entered the front room to see Howard give a deep nod out the window. “Wake up again about 11.”

It was then that Castiel noticed the TV tray holding Howard's essentials—thermos, cough drops, tissues, Bible, rotary phone—toppled over, its contents scattered. “What happened here?”

Howard didn’t reply. 

Castiel sighed. “Did you fall?”

Howard was silent but squirmed in his chair, crossing his arms more tightly over his chest. Rolling his eyes, Castiel righted the stand and picked up the items. He stepped around the chair as best he could to get a good look at Howard, nothing wrong at first glance. Castiel went to grab his wrist, lifting his own to look at his watch, when Howard yelped and swatted at him with his other hand. It was enough for Castiel to feel something was very wrong with the bone structure there.

Castiel’s anger flared. “You have a broken wrist! Why didn’t you call me?”

Howard grumbled, refusing to look at his son. “Couldn’t reach the phone.”

Castiel rubbed his forehead hard. “How—Dad, you have the pendant for a reason.”

Howard looked down at the small plastic device hanging around his neck and sneered. “Didn’t need no am’blance. Just a broken bone. Your granddaddy gave me worse.”

“Yeah.” Castiel huffed. “Well, I’m taking you to the hospital. Where’s your cane?” Castiel’s head whipped around, looking for the dark hook Howard never seemed to have in his hand.

“That was the plan.” Howard rumbled and Castiel stopped in his manic search for the cane, looking down dumbfounded at his father. 

“You… you were waiting for me to come home?”

Howard’s face screwed up, and he waved his uninjured hand. “A’ght, a’ght, don’t get sen’i’menal on me. You’s supposed to be home in a half-hour, I figured…” Howard trailed and Castiel felt his stomach sink low, guilt replacing his anger and it threatened to drown him. 

They were silent for a solid minute before Castiel could find his voice to speak. “I’m… I’m so sorry. My coworkers invited me out for-”

“Don’t matter.” Howard planted the hand of his uninjured wrist on the arm of his chair and tried to hoist himself to his feet, his whole body shaking with the effort. Castiel lunged forward, hooking his arms under his father’s armpits from behind, and felt his back wrench as he took the old man’s weight at an odd, half-bent angle. 

He lowered him back into his chair, breathing through the pain as he righted himself, twisting and stretching gently to assess the damage.  _ Probably a pulled muscle. I’ll live. _

“I’m going to get your cane.  _ Do. Not. _ attempt to get up without me.”

He heard Howard’s derisive grumble as Castiel wobbled towards the back bedroom, wishing furtively, for what felt like the billionth time, that he was back in Chicago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3


	4. What's the damage?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's estimate is ready on the Buick and Dean has a proposition for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: None

Castiel made an absolute idiot of himself when Dean called him from the garage to let him know his estimate was ready. An unfamiliar number had come up on his phone and—desperate for human interaction that didn’t involve illness, injury, or Howard—he’d actually answered.

“Hey, Cas, it’s Dean Winchester. How you doing, man?”

“Uh… good…” Castiel had sat up straight in his chair, as if Dean could see him, smoothing the crumbs off his shirt. “How… how are you?”

“Oh, just dandy. Was wondering when you’d like to come up here and see me.” Castiel paused so long Dean thought he’d lost him. “Hello?”

“Yeah! I’m here. Sorry! Uh… yes, I’d… like that.” Castiel’s face felt hot, his heart thudding in his chest. “Where… where should I… meet you?”

A pause and then a snort. “Well, the garage would probably be best, since that’s where the car is…”

Castiel wanted to melt into the floor. He was still horribly, cringingly embarrassed when he pulled into the lot of Singer Salvage before his shift. He caught sight of Dean in mechanics’ coveralls, folded under the hood of an old pickup, one leg comically in the air as he leaned over the left fender with a screwdriver. Impossibly, their eyes met as Castiel swung around to park and Dean sauntered out, wiping his hand on a towel as Castiel killed the engine. Dean knocked on the window, and Cas nearly dislocated his shoulder trying to roll it down. It only moved about two inches. Dean frowned.

“I’ll fix that. Get out.” Castiel did as he was told and Dean popped the hood, moving around the old Monte Carlo to take a look at the engine. “It didn’t knock like that when I gave it to you…”

Castiel held up his hands. “All I do is put gas in it.” He sighed, looking out at the yard and grumbling, “Like every other freakin’ day.”

Dean flapped his hand at him in a yadayada gesture as he moved back around him, placing a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and giving him a pat on the chest to get by. Castiel felt overly warm, suddenly, as he watched Dean lean into the car to kill the engine and pull the keys.

“I’ll take a look at it,” he sighed, handing over the keys to Castiel who took them dumbly. “Ready to see your baby?”

Castiel blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

Dean shook his head sadly. “The Buick, man. She sure ought-a-be someone’s baby.” Dean let out a low whistle that made Castiel laugh and shake his head.

Dean led him around the back of the garage, a dirt path worn down from many feet making the journey. Castiel was surprised to see rows of junk cars that seemed to go back miles, some stacked, some in tight lines. Against the back of the auto shop, there was a ramshackle shed made of mismatched corrugated metals attached to a metal arch cover. Underneath it sat the Buick, hood open under the glare of mega-watt halogens. 

“Well, the good news is you didn’t blow the engine driving it over here,” Dean began, but that was the only good news he had to report, unfortunately.

Dean walked him through what needed to be done, pointing at things under the hood, yanking on this, and peering under parts to jab at that with the end of his pen. He walked Castiel around the side of the car to where an elaborate part sat deconstructed on a tarp and Dean explained how it’d need to be rebuilt but nothing needed to be replaced. They stood silent, then, Dean with his arms crossed over his chest regarding the parts on the ground, Castiel mimicking the other man’s stance.

“So…” Castiel said after a moment and Dean pulled his eyes away from the parts to regard Castiel curiously. “Uh… what’s something like this gonna cost?”

Dean sighed and looked down again. “Around 2k.”

“Jesus,” Castiel muttered involuntarily, bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes.

“For the machinist,” Dean added reluctantly, and Castiel hung his head back in defeat. 

“Well…” Castiel said looking around at the husk of a car behind him and then at the neatly laid out parts in front. “I guess I should probably… keep the loaner you gave me… if you’re willing to trade this for parts? Wait, is there anything with better gas mileage?” Castiel squinted and looked around at the rusted-out classics piled around.

Dean was strangely silent and Castiel looked over at him, finding the look on his face blank, and Castiel wondered if he’d offended him. He was about to apologize when Dean seemed to shake himself out of it. Dean narrowed his eyes at the Buick, tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip and Castiel was unprepared for Dean’s eyes to lock back with his, the slow swipe of the other man’s tongue worrying back and forth causing a pull in his groin that Castiel had to actively fight.

Dean sighed finally, shoulders slumping. “You could do that, but I’d advise against it.” Dean seemed to wince as he said it and Castiel’s head tilted to the side in confusion.

“Why’s that?”

Dean sighed again, shifting on his feet. “Because you have an original 1970 GSX Stage 1 Hardtop with virtually no rust and original factory parts.” 

“You almost sound… mad about it?” Castiel said and watched Dean roll his eyes and scuff at the dirt with the bottom of his boot.

“Well, yeah, dude! I should totally just let you junk it and—” Dean cut himself off and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning and looking Castiel in the eye. “This is a very valuable car, okay?”

Castiel blinked. “How valuable?”

“Valuable.”

Castiel looked back at the Buick. “O-kay?”

They were silent for a moment, and Castiel wasn’t sure what to do. Dean seemed to be waiting for him to say something, but Castiel had no idea what.

“Look, man, I… I’d really love the opportunity to restore it.”

Castiel blinked at him and wondered why Dean looked so uncomfortable. “To what?”

Dean looked at him as if he were stupid. “To work on it! Do you know how many of these there are?” Castiel began to shake his head as Dean responded to his own question. “Of course you don’t.” Dean sighed. “Look, I don’t have a lot of experience with restoration but…” Castiel jumped as Dean reached around him to place a hand on his shoulder blade, guiding him towards an open space around the back of the work area. Dean raised an arm, gesturing with his whole hand. “That over there is my baby.”

Castiel followed Dean’s arm and saw an old classic, black as an oil slick, chrome glinting in the afternoon sun. Even to Castiel, who knew nothing about cars, it was beautiful. Dean’s face showed immense pride, and Castiel wondered if he should call it pretty. 

“It’s… wow…” Castiel cleared his throat but Dean just beamed at him. 

“She was in a pretty bad wreck a few years ago. Dad wanted to sell her for parts, but I couldn’t… I grew up in this car, ya know? So I rebuilt her.” Dean reached behind him to pull his phone out of his pocket, keying in his code quickly. Castiel leaned over as he opened up his pictures and Castiel’s face showed shock as Dean turned the screen to him, a hunk of twisted metal barely resembling a car sitting on a patch of dirt. Castiel looked over at the pristine vehicle across the lot and then back at the phone just as Dean started to swipe through. Castiel watched as scrap metal became recognizable, shifting and morphing through what had to have been months worth of work. Some were just the car, some showed Dean under the hood or on his back beneath the car. The final shot was him leaning against the hood of the completed car, arms crossed and smirking at the camera, clearly elated but too proud to grin. Dean was grinning now, though. Castiel felt his own lips quirk up.

“Listen, I’ve been itching for another restoration,” Dean said, leaning in conspiratorially before looking over his shoulder at the Buick. Castiel followed his gaze before taking in the longing on the other man’s face. He huffed, finally, frowning and annoyed. “Come on, what do I gotta do to convince you to let me take a crack at it? Beg?” Dean placed his hands on his hips and Castiel had no idea what to say.

“Uh… how.. how much will that… cost?”

“Well, since she’s all original, I’d like to keep her that way so you’d get a break on parts. My machinist owes me a favor, so he’d probably do anything I needed for around 5 to 6 thou.”

Castiel fought a groan. “And the labor?”

“Don’t worry about that.”

Castiel chuckled. “I don’t know what you think RNs make, but—”

“I said don’t worry about that. Outside labor only. Round it out to an even 10 grand, just to be safe,” Dean said with a slicing motion before placing his hands on his hips.

Castiel’s eyebrows creased. “Are you… you want to do… all of that… for free?”

Dean shrugged a shoulder. “Wouldn’t say no to a case of beer, now and then.” He gave Castiel a charming grin and Castiel found himself smiling dopily back at him. He shook his head, looking away.

“I… I really just need a car to get back and forth to work.”

“Keep the Monte,” Dean waved a hand towards the shop and Castiel raised his eyebrows in shock.

“Can you even do that? Won’t your boss—”

“My uncle owns the place.” Dean gave a shrug.

“I should probably ask Howard first,” Castiel muttered, more to himself, but Dean nodded. 

“Fair enough.” Dean shrugged and clapped Castiel hard on the shoulder. “Have him call me if he has any questions.” Castiel nodded, unable to say no to those eyes, and that face, and—dear god—Castiel had to get a grip. Then Dean smiled widely at him, and Castiel knew there was no hope. “Come on, let’s go see what the hell you’ve done to the Monte.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3


	5. The Harvest Festival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel works the blood drive and meets Sam Winchester. Dean gets a shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: mild homophobia

The Harvest Festival was a town tradition the locals embraced with as much enthusiasm as any small town given an arbitrary reason to gather on Main Street and drink. Craft booths, bake-offs, and live music shut down the city’s main artery, something that still baffled Castiel but he was quick to find that it didn’t affect traffic in the slightest.

Castiel squinted in the weak autumn sunlight, the thermal under his scrubs more than enough to keep him warm. Chicago had gotten nearly a foot of snow the night before. He tried not to miss it too badly, knowing if he texted any of his friends about it he’d probably be able to hear them cuss him from where he sat under the pop-up tent in the middle of the town common. Anna was busy with an older gentleman, listening about how he’d given blood at this event every year since he was old enough. Castiel felt his mouth quirk up in a smile. He looked out across the commons, finding Howard on a bench, surrounded by what Castiel assumed were his former parishioners. Howard was all smiles, hand-shakes, and hearty laughs, and Castiel’s hate for him burned so hot he had to clench his fists to push it back down. That was his father. Friendly and warm, until he came home to his sons.

Castiel was distracted momentarily as the first person to cross the finish line of the 5K sprinted to a stop to light cheers from the audience. He was tall and gangly, bashful as he raised a hand in acknowledgment and took a bottle of water from a starry-eyed preteen that he ignored. There was something endearing about his floppy hair and big smile, talking with a few folks as he sipped on water, towering over everyone around him. He had to have been 6’4 at least.

Within moments a small crowd crossed the finish line, and the man turned his head to watch. What he saw caused him to spit water out of his mouth and double over laughing. Castiel’s eyes squinted and to his astonishment, he saw Dean, arms pinwheeling as he tried to stop so as not to plow over the little girl with the water. He was sweaty and heaving, snatching the bottle without a look and uncapping it. Castiel’s mouth went dry as he watched Dean tilt his head and chug it down, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he drained it. He seemed to heave a breath when he finished, crushing the water bottle in his fist before his face screwed into a death stare. Castiel followed it to the tall man, the winner of the race, who’d stepped up to meet him, placing a caring hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean pushed him hard, clearly pissed off, and Castiel could even make out his bark of “Fuck you, Sam!” as he stomped towards the aid station. Castiel sat up straighter in his chair.

Dean’s face smoothed from deep anger to shock as his eyes met Castiel’s and he seemed almost embarrassed, looking around as he scratched his ear. His feet had slowed to a near stop, but he managed to will himself over now that he’d been seen. Castiel tried not to feel the sting of it as he gave Dean his tight-lipped customer service smile.

“I think I need a medic.” Dean quipped and Castiel allowed himself the luxury of scanning Dean from toe to head, starting with the beat-up sneakers on his feet, the tops of his crew socks pulled up ridiculously high on his calves, to his loose mesh shorts and sweat-drenched gray t-shirt clinging to his stomach and chest. Castiel could practically see his pulse beating in his jugular, red-faced and panting, green eyes fatigued and blond hair plastered darkly to his head. He met Dean’s eyes purposely then.

“You seem fine to me.”

Dean glared at him as he shifted on his feet, face turning redder in what Castiel let himself believe was a blush. Sam had made it over by then and clapped a hand on Dean’s shoulder. He startled, looking down where an average person’s face would be and stutter-looked up into Sam’s face. Dean’s scowl deepened.

“This is a family event Dean. Language.” Sam oofed as Dean socked him in the stomach, making Castiel jump.

Dean turned to him as if nothing had happened. “At least gimme some electrolytes or something.”

Castiel hummed as he leaned over and looked into one of the small fridges under his table, finding his Gatorade next to three or four pints of O-neg. He pulled it out and contemplated it before he peered up at Dean again, still panting and clearly miserable. Castiel held it out to him and Dean’s shoulders slumped, snatching it and undoing the cap. The vision of Dean tilting his head back and chugging the blue liquid, some spilling out of his mouth and over his chin, was well worth giving up his drink. Sam was watching too, clearly disgusted.

“Dude…” Sam grabbed Dean’s arm making him pause to take a breath. He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm before sucking in a deep breath.

“This is my annoying kid brother.” Dean belched before going in to finish the bottle and Sam looked absolutely appalled, though Castiel surprised himself by laughing.

_ Great. I have a crush on my mechanic. _

“Sam,” Sam extended his hand and Castiel reached out to take it. “Sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“Castiel Novak. Dean’s my mechanic.” Castiel said at the same time Dean replied. “This is Cas. I’m fixing his car.” The men blinked at each other before Dean broke into a roguish grin.

“Wait, did you say I was  _ your _ mechanic?” Sam looked between them amused, and Castiel felt his face settle into a blank stare. Dean shook his head and grinned. “Well, it’s an honor. A man and his mechanic share a profound bond.”

Dean offered his hand which Castiel took, face still stoic and Sam turned away to rub a hand over his face. Castiel thought he heard him mutter, “Sweet Jesus.”

“This is cute you runnin’ the blood drive.” Dean gestured, indicating the table and the two other nurses behind him, strapping a couple of burly farmers into the chairs.

“Where do I sign up?” Sam asked, placing his hands on his hips and looking around on the table for a sign-in sheet. Dean looked over at him, alarmed.

“Dude, you just ran a 5K. You can’t give blood right now!” Dean looked seriously at Castiel, pointing a finger up at his brother. “He can’t right? It’ll kill him.”

Castiel snorted. “I doubt it would  _ kill _ him but it could make him very sick.”

Sam gave a sharp jerk of one shoulder and pursed his lips. “Nah, I’ve done it before.”

Dean looked even more alarmed. “Are you crazy?!” Castiel was startled by the genuine outrage in Dean’s voice, but Sam rolled his eyes.

“Check my heart rate and all the other stuff. I’ll eat all your cookies and chug all your OJ afterward.” Sam seemed bored by those concessions, and Castiel merely shook his head before waving him over to the privacy screens.

“This is madness,” Dean muttered, running a hand over his sweaty face.

Castiel went through the intake with Sam, making his brother go stand a few feet away as they discussed the consents and Castiel explained the risks. When they were finished, Castiel escorted him over to one of the chairs, Dean trailing them anxiously. Once Sam was settled comfortably, Castiel gave him a smile.

“Anna or Meg will be with you shortly.”

Castiel turned around to go back to the sign-in table and smacked directly into Dean, full-body contact from hips to stomach to chest. Both men backpedaled quickly, Castiel smacking his hip against the side of the donation chair. He muttered an angry “Ouch!” Looking down at the offensive corner and glared at it. He thought he heard Sam smother a laugh.

“You’re not doing it?” Dean stepped up again, regaining his bearings, gesturing at Sam with an open palm and straight fingers, something Castiel had seen military men do and he quickly wondered if Dean had been in the service. Castiel looked down at Sam in time to see the younger man roll his eyes.

“Dean, stop being dumb. One of the girls is fine. Thanks, Cas.” Castiel started at the nickname, passing Sam’s lips as easily as it had passed Dean’s.

“No, no. You do it. Those girls are butchers.”

“Hey! Fuck you, Winchester!” Meg exclaimed from where she was unhooking the IV from the man on her table.

“Heard you already did,” her patient sniggered and Meg punched him hard, right in the arm he’d just donated from. The man yowled and Dean nearly buckled from laughing so hard.

Anna gave Dean an exasperated look, checking the bag on her patient’s hook before turning to walk over. She somehow managed to anticipate right when the man on her table was going to grab for her ass and she was able to reach behind her and slap his hand away hard. Castiel raised an eyebrow, and she rolled her eyes at him in response.

“The Alistair boys are both neanderthals to be tolerated.” Anna let out a heavy sigh. “I’ll watch the front for you if you wanna do this one.” Anna offered him the box of gloves.

“Uh…” Castiel’s eyes shifted to Dean who nodded his head vigorously. Sam and Anna both snorted at the same time. “Sure.” He plucked a pair of gloves out for himself.

“Great! You can unhook Alistair, too, when he’s done!” Anna gave him a cheery grin before bouncing over to the sign-up table.

Castiel huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he snapped the latex on. Flexing his fingers, he grabbed for the pressure cuff and Sam immediately held up his left arm. Castiel went to go around to his other side, nudging Dean and giving him a curious look as he passed.

“You donated yet?” Dean asked, looking over at Meg and seeing the tape around her elbow, gauze against the crook.

Castiel cleared his throat, rolling his head on his neck as he strapped on the blood pressure cuff, pumping Sam’s arm up and handing him a stress ball. Dean let out a huff of a laugh as he shuffled down to the end of the table watching as Castiel slathered iodine on his brother’s arm in hypnotizing swirls.

“Don’t tell me Mr. Tackled a Meth Head on his First Shift is afraid of giving a little blood.”

Castiel continued to ignore him, reaching for the packet with the needle, and Sam’s brows bunched. “Dean…”

“What, you can stick ‘em but you can’t take it?” Dean niggled, clearly enjoying himself and Sam gave him a piercing look. Dean sighed. “What?! He knows I’m just fuckin’ with him! But seriously, Cas, are you scared or just delicate?

Castiel paused as he poked around at Sam’s arm, trying to summon a vein, and looked back at Dean, finding his hands on either side of his brother’s ankles, leaning forward protectively. Castiel took a moment to look at him, head tilting to the side as he wondered where this overabundance of concern stemmed from. Dean gave him an obnoxious grin that didn’t meet his eyes, anxiety still swimming in their mossy depths.

Castiel looked down. “Gay men aren’t allowed to donate blood.”

Sam’s face showed immense shock, his wide eyes moving from Castiel to Dean and Castiel followed his gaze. Dean had frozen in place, his hands suddenly clamped around his brother’s ankles so tight his knuckles were white.

“Wait… what?” Dean stuttered, looking Castiel directly in the eyes, his own eyes confused beyond measure, and Castiel felt something break inside him, filling his stomach with dread, locking down his vocal cords. “You’re saying that you…”

“Are sexually attracted to men.” Castiel finished for him. Giving him as polite a smile as he could manage. “Yes.”

“Dean, you’re cutting off the circulation to my feet, man.”

Sam tapped Dean’s stomach with the toe of his shoe and Dean stepped back, bringing a hand up to his mouth and swiping down before placing his hands on his hips. He couldn’t look at Castiel, and Castiel found he couldn’t look at Dean. So he focused on Sam, who was peering up at him as if he were an alien. Castiel set the needle down and held up his palms.

“If you would rather have Anna or Meg-”

“No!” Sam exclaimed instantly, his hands reaching for Castiel’s forearms, his eyes immediately going apologetic. “No, man, I’m sorry. We just… uh… we don’t really…” Sam looked to Dean, who still seemed a bit confused. Sam huffed a breath out his nose before looking up at Castiel with soft eyes so deeply caring that Castiel nearly gasped. “You gotta be careful who you tell around here, man.” Sam’s voice was hushed as he turned his head to glance over at the two men still in their donation chairs. Sam looked up at Castiel again, his eyes large and apologetic before his gaze fell on Dean. He sighed. “Forgive my brother. He’s not a bigot. He’s just an idiot.”

Dean snapped out of it then, scowling at his brother and leaning back in again. “Hey, you shut…” Dean’s eyes found Castiel’s again, and he looked chastened, almost scared. “Sorry, man. No one has ever… We don’t really have... that here.” Dean offered him a weak but genuine smile that warmed Castiel in a way that was truly alarming.

Castiel cleared his throat before turning back to Sam, lining up the needle with a vein. “Glad I could be your first.”

Dean leaned on the end of the table, let out a shaking breath, and then peered at Castiel again. “When you say you’re…”

Both Castiel and Sam looked at him blankly as Dean tried to work through what he was trying to ask. Castiel almost felt bad for him and when he looked around him, at the burly farmers in the other chairs to the town folk milling around he nearly felt bad for all of them. How small their worlds must be, how boring, to only know people exactly like themselves.

“When you say you’re… se-se-“

Castiel focused on Dean again. “Sexually attracted to men.” Castiel gave him an agreeing nod as Castiel encouraged Sam to squeeze at the stress ball.

“Yeah… uh… that.” Dean cleared his throat and his face scrunched up as he looked at Castiel, almost afraid. Castiel had to look down to suppress the bitter lump suddenly in his throat. “How… how does that even work?”

Castiel’s head snapped up, his eyes falling on Sam’s face as the younger man shouted, “ _ Dean! _ ” so sharply everyone in the vicinity stopped to look at them. Dean looked at his brother and threw out a hand, giving him a “what” expression to which Sam responded with raised eyebrows, inclining his head just slightly while holding Dean’s gaze. It was only a bare moment before Dean’s entire face blanched and he threw his hands out, wide panicked eyes meeting Castiel’s calm, flat blues.

“I didn’t mean it like… I mean I know how it…” His face paled even more, which Castiel didn’t think was possible, and it was funny now. Hilarious, actually. “I mean I don’t  _ know _ know, ya know. I just can imagine.” Dean gave a high manic laugh before his face fell again. “Not that I do. Imagine it, I mean.”

Sam sighed and looked at Castiel. “I am so sorry.” Dean glared at him as Castiel just shook his head.

“Shut up, Sam. Not all of us have been brainwashed out west in the land of fruits and nuts.” Dean snarked and then winced. “Not fruits like… I mean…. Fuck.” He rubbed a hand over his face hard before bursting out. “Sam goes to Stanford! He passed his LSTATs with a 174.” Dean pressed his hand to his head as he turned away and stomped over to Anna, leaning on the table and beginning what must have been a very abrupt conversation.

Castiel and Sam looked at each other, blinking. “174. Out of 180?”

Sam nodded. “Yep.”

“What made you choose law?”

Sam’s eyes wandered over to Dean, his expression going pained, and when Anna slapped Dean hard across the face, both Sam and Castiel flinched. “Thought it might come in handy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
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	6. Understanding Over-Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean runs into Castiel at the all-night diner and tries to make amends. Castiel patiently answers questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Mild Homophobia

Castiel sat hunched in the too-bright light of an all-night diner, picking at the French fries on his plate with little interest. He checked his silent phone again, finding no new messages since the last time he checked five minutes ago, all the windows ending on his blue message without replies. He opened Instagram, scrolling through his friends’ lives, finding essentially the same photos, just all from different angles, the tale-tell sign of an evening out. He had a sudden bout of homesickness so strong it nearly suffocated him, turning his phone face down on the counter as he rested his chin on the heel of his hand.

He barely registered the ding as the door swung open behind him, but his back stiffened when a familiar voice echoed into the near-empty diner.

“‘ey, Evie!”

Castiel kept his head down, seeing Dean out of his peripheral vision. He was clad in an old brown leather jacket with the collar turned up at the back of his neck, worn jeans and dusty boots. The man leaned over the counter before banging his palm against it obnoxiously and Castiel jumped, feeling it vibrate underneath his elbows.

“EVE! Come on, it’s an emergency!”

The waitress stuck her head out of the order window, her green eyes glaring out at the young man, who gave her a smooth smile. “What kind of emergency?”

“I’m starving to death. Get me a burger, will you?” Eve rolled her eyes and disappeared from sight, but the sound of meat hitting a grill with a hot sizzle emanated from the back. “Thanks, Garth. Fries, too, man.”

Dean hooked the heel of his boot onto a barstool. Glancing around as he made to perch on it, his eyes met Castiel’s. Castiel hadn’t meant to stare, hadn’t even realized he had been, and Dean seemed just as embarrassed to be stared at as Cas was at being caught staring. Castiel looked down at his plate, poking at what was left of his burger and debated saying hello. He would have just meant it to be friendly, but given Dean’s stiff goodbye at the blood drive a few days ago, Castiel was reluctant to engage.

“Uh, hey Cas!” Dean’s voice was falsely bright and Castiel looked up to find him standing next to him, smiling at him awkwardly. “You… you uh, just get off?” Dean’s shoulders tensed. “Shift, I mean?”

Castiel blinked at him as if he were an alien and lowered his head, giving the other man an out. “Yeah, just finishing up.” He crumpled his napkin and dropped it on his plate, slipping a hand into his trench pocket to retrieve his wallet.

“You ever had the pie here?”

Castiel looked up and Dean pointed to the back of a menu that was pinned between a napkin holder and a bottle of ketchup. “No.”

“Oh man, you gotta… Eve!” Dean hollered and Castiel jumped at the sudden change in volume. “Sorry, man,” Dean muttered out the side of his mouth. “‘Ey, Eve! Get Cas a slice of—you like cherry?” Castiel didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded. “Cherry. One for me, too, will ya?”

Castiel was surprised when he climbed up onto the stool next to him, hooking the heels of his boots onto the rail and jiggling his legs. Castiel was looking at him, taking in his profile as Dean picked at the cuffs of his jacket. There was a smudge of dirt on his cheekbone. Dean’s eyes flicked to his again quickly before immediately looking back at his hands on the counter.

“You see the Chiefs at the Lions on Sunday?” Dean asked finally and Castiel blinked at him. Dean’s beginning of a smile faded when he remembered. “Oh, yeah. You don’t… Okay, then.”

Another uncomfortable stretch of silence, Castiel sitting stock still while Dean wiggled back and forth, drumming his fingers on the counter, looking around for, Castiel assumed, a way out. He remained silent, hand moving to cover his phone, tipping it to peek at the screen, and he still had no messages.

“Got a hot date later?” Dean teased, his elbow nudging Castiel in the ribs, the contact startling him.

“Uh… no?”

Dean was trying his best to grin at Castiel, but it was wavering and Castiel’s head tipped to the side, eyes squinting and he wondered why Dean was trying so hard. Dean finally let it fall, breathing out a huge sigh as he hunched his shoulders and ducked his head.

“I’m sorry, man. I just don’t really know what to say.” Dean’s apologetic eyes flicked to his, and Castiel’s brows furrowed.

“You don’t have to say anything.”

Dean scoffed, swaying on his chair as he turned more towards Castiel, folding his hands as he rested one elbow on the counter. “Yeah, I do. I’m not just going to pretend like I don’t know you.”

Castiel blinked. “You don’t know me.”

Castiel immediately felt a twinge of regret as Dean’s face contorted into a frown for a microsecond before he was able to situate it into a neutral expression. “Oh, well…”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said immediately, turning his body more towards Dean. “That was rude. My… people skills are… rusty.”

Dean snorted a laugh, a genuine smile on his face which widened when Eve worked her way out of the kitchen with a plate holding the biggest burger Castiel had ever seen, piled high with fries, while balancing two slices of pie in her other hand. Dean actually rubbed his hands together as Eve set it in front of him before sliding Castiel’s pie across the counter, still watching Dean.

“Eat it, Dean,” Eve said as she sauntered away and Dean paused with the burger halfway to his mouth.

“I am,” He responded back, confused, and Eve gave him a look that told him that’s exactly what she’d wanted him to say.

“Then stop looking at it like you wanna fuck it.” She let out a sharp laugh at the blanched look on Dean’s face, disappearing back into the kitchen. Castiel bit his lip on a laugh, and Dean shot him a sideways glance with a strained smile.

“Food’s great but the service leaves something to be desired,” he muttered before burying his face in his burger. The noises he made were borderline inappropriate. “‘orry.” Dean said while chewing. “‘issed dinner.” He swallowed the wad of food in his mouth then promptly shoved about four fries in.. “Been on tow duty all night.” He jutted a thumb over his shoulder and Castiel looked out the window, seeing the big “Singer’s Auto & Salvage” logo emblazoned on the side of a tow truck with a small sedan on the hook. “‘ow was ‘our shif’?”

Castiel regarded him with an astonished raised eyebrow and coughed out a disbelieving laugh. “If I tell you, will you promise to chew with your mouth closed from now on?”

Dean looked over at him, cheeks puffed out, jaw to the side mid-chew, and he made a humming noise of assent as he nodded. He swallowed hard. “If you insist.” Dean actually covered his mouth and turned his head away to cover a belch. “Eve! Soda. Pronto!”

“You might get better service if you didn’t order her around like that.”

Dean eyed her through the order window, a small smile pulling at his lips. “She likes it.”

“Doesn’t look like she likes it,” Castiel muttered as she came out of the kitchen holding a coke glass and slammed it down on the counter in front of Dean before leaving again.

Dean removed the straw and drank straight from the glass. “Sam went back to Stanford.”

“Oh?” Castiel said because he didn’t really know what else to say.

“He said I should maybe apologize to you. For… you know… being rude.”

Castiel sat up straighter. “You weren’t rude. It was your natural reaction. There’s nothing… wrong with it.” The words tasted bitter in his mouth.

“I didn’t mean anything by it, Cas.” Dean’s voice was right next to Castiel’s ear and he stayed still, his head down looking at his pie. “I was just surprised, is all. No one… no one had ever told me that before.”

Castiel looked at him and blinked. “What, that they’re gay?”

Dean cringed and waved a hand, nearly shushing him, and Castiel raised an eyebrow. Dean sighed looking around them but they were alone aside from an old drunk asleep in the back booth. “Yeah. It’s not exactly… you can’t be that, here.”

Both Castiel’s eyebrows rose then. “Excuse me?”

Dean held up his hands. “No. Shit. I didn’t mean…” He let his head hang back, heaving a sigh. “I’m fucking this all up again.” He took a sobering breath. “I’m trying to help you.”

Castiel tilted his head, his shoulders tense as he turned more towards Dean, his knees brushing the other man’s thigh. “And how are you doing that?”

“Um… well…”

“By trying to shove me into a closet?”

“No!” Dean insisted loudly and cringed before lowering his voice. “No, of course not. I’m just saying… I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Castiel snorted. “No one is going to hurt me.”

Dean made an uncomfortable sound in the back of his throat and picked up his burger again, taking another offensively large bite.

“Dean, I have been out of the closet since I was 10 years old. I have no plans to go back in it now.”

Dean looked at him, wide-eyed, as he chewed. “‘ince ‘ou ‘ere-” He cut himself off as Castiel held up a hand, his face showing disgust. Dean chewed more vigorously and swallowed. “You’ve been out since you were ten?”

“Yes,” Castiel said simply, reaching for his fork to cut into his pie.

“How… how do you even? You can’t know that early…”

Castiel paused, the fork almost to his mouth, his eyes meeting Dean’s before looking away. “I’ve known ever since I can remember.” He took a bite, and the noise that came out of his throat was involuntary. “Mmm.”

Dean’s face broke into a grin. “See. Told ya.” He clapped a hand on Castiel’s shoulder before picking up his burger again.

“So you were 10 and you just…” Dean said after swallowing. “You just… what?”

“What do you mean, ‘what?’”

“Like… how…”

Castiel looked at Dean, licking some cherry filling from his lips, and watched Dean’s eyes drop to his mouth. “How did I tell everyone I was gay?” Dean’s eyes snapped to his again, and he gave a small nod, his eyes apprehensive, like the very idea of being gay, much less having to  _ tell _ people about it was horrifying. Castiel looked down and cleared his throat. “This is pretty personal you know?”

Dean blinked and leaned back. “What? Oh… I’m… Sorry… I was just… Like I said, I’ve never… you were…”

Castiel held up a hand. “It’s fine. Just… if you ever happen to run into another one of us, know that their story could be more traumatic than mine is.” Castiel cleared his throat again. “It was a Sunday. My father had just done a sermon on Leviticus 18,” Castiel paused looking at Dean before clarifying, “Thou shalt not lie with mankind as with womankind…” Dean winced and gave a nod of understanding. “And my mother was taking me home afterwards because I always felt sick on Sundays. I still had to go to church, but she never made me stay afterwards like my brothers had to. I asked her if she hated boys who liked boys. She was quiet for a moment.” Castiel paused, the memory of sitting in… his breath caught in his throat… in the front seat of the Buick, looking at his mother’s profile, her full lashes outlined by the Sunday afternoon sun. Castiel shook his head. “Uh… and she said that she didn’t hate anyone. And that God didn’t want us to hate anyone. And that she loved me… no matter who I decided to love.” Castiel forked the rest of his pie into his mouth, a bite that would have rivaled one of Dean’s. He felt his eyes stinging, and choking was a better excuse for watering eyes than crying.

“She just knew?” Dean’s voice was soft, almost weak, and Castiel looked over at him, chewing laboriously as he took in the pained expression on Dean’s face. “That… that seems right. A mom… a mom would know.” Dean gave a definitive nod of his head. He cleared his throat and gave a great sniff. “Uh… thanks for telling me. I didn’t mean to be an ass while asking.”

Castiel had to cover his mouth not to spray pie all over the counter at his urge to laugh. He swallowed and coughed. “Thank you, but you’re fine.”

Castiel’s phone buzzed and both of them looked at it before Castiel reached for it and saw a text from Gabriel on the notification screen. He swiped up, quickly closing Instagram, hoping that Dean didn’t see, but the other man’s soft snort made him blush, knowing that he did. Castiel clicked on the message and sighed at its contents.

_ Hey Dad says you’re not home. You okay? _

Castiel ground his teeth as he tapped out a reply.  _ I stopped to get some food. All we have at the house is Ensure and Metamucil. I’m leaving now. _

_ Don’t rush home on my account… Dad’s broken wrist, however… _

Castiel rolled his eyes and angrily reached for his wallet, pulling out a twenty—his last twenty, regrettably—and dropped it on the counter.

“I’m sorry. I have to get back home. My dad…” Castiel gestured vaguely over his shoulder and Dean set down his own phone—Castiel just realized he’d pulled it out—and moved to stand, as well.

“Not a problem, man. It was nice talking to you.”

“You, too.”

It was instinctual, given their proximity and the conversation they’d just had. Castiel stepped in closer, just about to lift his arms to wrap around Dean, when he realized Dean was deliberately avoiding his eyes, looking down at the floor beside him. Castiel immediately froze.

“Cas…” Dean said, his voice a thin warning, and Castiel froze, terrified that he’d crossed some kind of line for Dean. As touch-driven as the other man was, a hand on his shoulder, a tap on the arm, banging the back of his hand against his sternum, a hug hadn’t seemed too far off to Castiel, but by Dean’s reaction it was. Dean cleared his throat. “Uh… personal space?”

“Sorry.” Castiel stepped back, his ears pink, and he wasn’t sure what to do then. “Uh… I’ll… I’ll see you later.”

Castiel practically ran out the door, the cool Autumn air biting at his overheated cheeks. There was no way that he would  _ ever  _ be able to look at Dean Winchester again. As he fell into the front seat of the Monte Carlo, he felt his phone buzz again and fished it out to look at it as he jammed his key in the ignition. He let out a strange sound between a groan and a laugh as he saw the notification.

_ DWinchester79 started following you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
> 
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> 


	7. A Bad Omen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old dispute between the Winchesters and Azazels sends the bar brawl to the ER. Castiel has words with the sheriff's deputy and keeps Dean company at John Winchester's bedside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Canon-typical violence

_ DWinchester79 liked your post. _

Castiel fought the stupid smile that was threatening to crawl across his face before any of his coworkers had a chance to see it. It’d been a disgustingly slow shift, all drug seekers and sprained ankles. A silent ER at midnight was a bad omen that Castiel was fervently trying to ignore.

The photo Dean liked was one he’d posted on his way to work that afternoon: the setting sun turning the prairie grass golden as it sped by, the bare hint of gravel at the shoulder of the road giving a sense of speed. Castiel’s Instagram was mostly nature shots these days—a nice sunset, a fat bumblebee on a flower, a rainbow which got a cacophony of pride flag emojis from his friends back home. If he scrolled back far enough, he found relics of his old life. The picture from Hannah’s birthday where he helped her do a keg stand, holding down the boss with his coworkers and pretending to shock him with the paddles. Selfies on Navy Pier, in front of The Bean, at the botanical gardens, in the butterfly house, squinting with a monarch on his nose.

He peered around the corner and, finding the hall sufficiently abandoned, he flipped the camera and stretched out an arm. He situated his face into the most pathetic, bored face he could muster and snapped a pic. He didn’t give himself too much time to think about how he looked, just jabbed at the filters until he found one that made his eyes look ethereally blue and added the caption “Charting” with the barfing emoji before hitting post. He dropped his phone back onto the desk and pulled the chart closer, beginning to scribble out notes on his 85-year-old male with leg pain.

His phone lit up with a notification and he glanced over on instinct.

_ DWinchester79 liked your post. _

“A little help here, please!”

Castiel stood, shoving his phone in his pocket and rounding the corner only to break out into a short jog upon seeing one gurney, then another, roll in, flanked on either side by three or four men, all shouting back and forth. 

“What the hell happened?” Meg yelled as more staff converged on them, splitting them and pulling each bed in a different direction.

“Bar fight!” An EMT yelled over the din just as one of the men broke off from his group and went barreling towards the other.

Castiel stepped forward, planting a hand on the man’s forehead, knocking his ball cap off, and getting a palm full of sweaty hair. The entire group smelled like a brewery, not one of them under the age of fifty. Castiel couldn’t help but marvel at the type of madness a little alcohol and a lot of testosterone could produce. Castiel gave a light shove, enough to careen the guy off-course, and he pinwheeled backward, falling hard on his ass. Several deputies were flooding into the ambulance bay, one hauling a bleeding, cursing man with his hands cuffed in front of him while the others spread to try to keep the peace. Castiel focused on the gurney closest to him, grabbing a pen light from his pocket to check the man’s pupils, but found one eye already swollen shut.

“Vitals are good on this one. Send Edlund to the other.” Castiel declared as he and Anna began to roll him to curtain one. A meaty hand curled tightly around Castiel’s bicep, jerking him back.

“The doc’s gonna see him first.”

Castiel was able to release his arm easily, the old drunk’s grip firm but clumsy, and a quick sidestep was enough to render him off balance. “Your friend is fine, just beat up and drunk. If the other guy is less beat up and less drunk, your friend may still be seen first.” Castiel rose to his full height and pointed sharply to the waiting room. “You all can wait over there.”

A few men started to scuffle and Castiel rolled his eyes, moving to sidestep them so he could look at the handcuffed guy currently being forced into a wheelchair by two deputies. Blood was pouring from a cut above his eye, and the left side of his face had the pulpy look of hamburger meat. Castiel checked his vitals despite the older man’s struggling, trying to render the surrounding scuffling as background noise.

“Sir, do you feel dizzy or nauseous?” Castiel asked, flicking the pen light across the man’s eyes before it was slapped out of his hands.

“Ger’off me! I’m fine.” The man tried to get up, but Castiel and both deputies forced him back into a sitting position. “ _ Azazel, I’ll whoop you and your boy, even in these cuffs, you sorry son of a-“ _

The deputy brought the butt of his gun down on the back of the man’s neck. “Put a cork in it, Winchester!”

“What the  _ hell  _ are you doing?”

The boom of Castiel’s voice, low and commanding, caused a quick hush to fall over the cacophony, heads turning to him in surprise. The deputy looked chastised, but only for a moment.

“I’m an officer of the law-“

Castiel’s nostrils flared. “Pistol-whipping a man with a potential brain hemorrhage is unnecessary force. Stand down or I’ll have a report in to your commanding officer.”

The deputy stepped around the wheel chair to tower over Castiel’s crouched form. “I’ll use any force I see fit!”

Castiel stood slowly, and even though the officer was a few inches taller than he was, the look on Castiel’s face was enough to make the young officer swallow hard. “Will you…” Castiel’s head tilted to the side, his eyes squinting fiercely, “Boy?”

“Alright, alright, the cavalry is here. Who needs their ass kicked?”

Castiel’s eyes didn’t leave the deputy’s face though the deputy had turned to look at the two young men who’d entered the loading area. They were followed by a few others, splitting off to their factions.

“What are you gonna do about it, Winchester? I dropped your daddy. I’ll drop you, too.”

Castiel’s eyes flicked at the sound of the name and he found Dean Winchester, hands shoved in the pockets of his leather coat, rolling his eyes as he walked away from the source of the taunt and right up to the desk.

“Hey, Kevin. My dad around?”

Kevin held up a shaking finger, pointing to the man who was nearly sliding out of the wheelchair, unconscious. Dean turned and his eyes snagged on Castiel, a look of faint surprise on his face, muttering “Cas?” before his eyes fell to his father. His face smoothed, but Castiel could feel the barely controlled rage emanating off of him as Dean rushed forward to kneel in front of his father. “Dad?” His hands cupped the older man’s neck, giving him a shake.

Castiel gestured to Dr. Edlund, who looped his stethoscope back round his neck, leaving the group around the first gurney to rush over. He hadn’t realized he’d laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder until he stood and stepped back with Castiel, allowing Edlund to kneel down and do his work.

Castiel was very aware that his hand was still on Dean’s shoulder, feeling his breath coming in controlled and steady, though he could see the clench of his jaw. Voices continued to echo around them, yelling between the two factions, and then Dr. Edlund’s voice, calling for a head CT. Castiel moved then, leaning forward to help right John Winchester in the chair as Dr. Edlund reeled off a list of tests and medications to be administered. Anna stepped over to help, and Castiel felt a hand clamp hard on his forearm. He looked up into Dean’s wide, green eyes.

“I got it!” Anna hollered as Castiel turned to look at her, already behind the wheelchair and beginning to push it towards the elevators.

“What’d all that mean?” Dean asked him, letting go of his arm to plant his hands on his hips, bracing himself almost as if he expected Castiel to hit him. Castiel took a deep, calming breath, holding Dean’s gaze steady, and the younger man seemed to follow his lead, taking in a shaking breath of his own.

“He’s-”

“He got what was comin’ to him!”

Dean’s jaw clenched so hard Castiel heard his teeth grind together, but his eyes stayed focused on Castiel’s. There was movement over Dean’s shoulder that Castiel barely caught, and then it all happened so quickly that afterwards, he wasn’t even sure he’d blinked.

A man had stepped up behind Dean, sneering as he said, “We’re done takin’ shit over your dead momma.” Castiel had never seen another man move so fast. One moment Dean was looking at him and the next his back was to him, shoulders heaving, knuckles dripping blood onto the linoleum, with another man knocked out cold on the floor in front of him.

It was bedlam after that, each side now with fresh recruits, sons and nephews at full fighting capacity joining the old drunks in an all-out brawl. Deputies pulled their batons and smacked anyone within hitting distance. Kevin took cover under the admitting desk and Castiel managed to drag a few on the edges of the skirmish away, planting them hard on the ground with a flash of the eyes and a stern command to sit and be still.

It was over as quickly as it started, Dean taking a hard hit to the back of the head from the same deputy that cold-cocked his father, sinking to his knees but continuing to shake his head as if dazed. Castiel stepped forward then, holding out a warding hand as he walked over to Dean, glaring at the deputy.

“Officer…” Castiel squinted at the deputy’s name tag. “Azazel. Thank you, I’ve got it from here.”

“Should put him under arrest,” the officer gritted out, head tipped back to pinch at his bleeding nose. Castiel gave him a terse smile.

“I should report you for battery, but all of us are going to take a deep breath and reconsider our options tonight.”

Castiel jumped as Dean’s hand clamped around his wrist and pulled, forcing Castiel to brace himself as he helped the young man up. Dean winced as he reached behind his head to poke at the tender spot where he’d been clubbed, and his fingers came back red. Castiel led him over to curtain two.

It was nearly two a.m. before some semblance of order had been restored, Castiel bouncing from curtain to curtain, cleaning lacerations and cycling through discharges. Dean had disappeared sometime during the madness and Castiel’s mind kept stuttering back to him, wondering if that head lac had needed stitches. He was slotting his last chart into the rack just as Meg walked up, dropping her own chart in.

“Geezer behind curtain 3 wants to shake your hand for dressing down Pete Azazel.”

Castiel snorted. “I’ll be sure to stop by.”

“Dean also wanted to talk to you. He’s in Room 8 with his dad.”

Castiel froze. “O-oh. Okay, I’ll just…” he trailed, gesturing as he started down the hall.

“Hey!” Castiel turned and Meg tossed a pair of gloves at him. “See if he’ll let you clean him up, will you? That head lac looked nasty.”

#

Castiel’s knuckles rapped softly before he entered Room 8. Dean was sitting up straighter in his chair, rubbing at sleepy eyes as Castiel let himself in, chart in hand. John Winchester had been admitted with a slight concussion and was only being held as a precaution. He was to be woken up every hour, the last time having been—Castiel looked at his watch—forty-five minutes ago. Castiel slipped the chart into the rack at the end of the bed.

“Hello, Dean.”

“‘ey, Cas.”

Dean's voice was gravelly from lack of use or, judging by the bruises on his neck, being choked at some point. Castiel’s brow furrowing, he stepped closer and looked down into his bruised face as green eyes squinted up at him. Castiel fished into his pocket for his penlight and held up a finger. Dean rolled his eyes but followed his finger with a bored expression until Castiel clicked it off.

“See? No concussion.” Dean gave him a grin that made Castiel roll his eyes. “You did pretty well out there. Didn’t know they taught combat in nursing school.”

“I was beat up a lot as a kid,” Castiel muttered, still studying Dean’s face with interest, and Dean gave a soft chuckle.

“You know, not for nothing, Cas, but the last time someone looked at me like that, I got laid.”

Castiel had been just about to reach for the top of Dean’s head to take a look at the back, but he dropped his arms and gave him a sharp glare. The asshole had the audacity to wink back at him.

“Let me look at the back of your head.”

“Weird kink, but okay.” Dean leaned forward and Castiel moved around him, using his penlight to follow the dried blood at the back of Dean’s neck up.

He palmed the back of his head gently, using his thumb to push his hair against the grain, and Dean hissed and jerked as he rolled over where the skin had split over a large lump. Castiel put the light into his mouth, holding it between his teeth as he used both hands to gently prod around the wound. Dean gave an annoyed growl when he’d had enough, elbowing Castiel away from him.

“I’m fine.”

“You should at least let me clean it up.” Castiel clicked the penlight off and replaced it in his pocket.

Dean brought a hand up to rub against the scruff on one cheek, his knuckles swollen to nearly double their normal size. “I’ll think about it.”

Castiel shook his head. “I’ll get you some ice for your hands.”

“Hey.” Dean’s fingers whispered across his forearm as he made to pass. “Uh… thanks for…” Dean gestured to his father’s prone figure and Castiel blinked at him.

“I didn’t do anything there.”

“Rufus said you gave Officer Asshole a scare when he cold-cocked ‘im.” Dean gestured to John again, shifting in his seat and Castiel saw something shift across Dean’s face as he looked at his father.

“It was unnecessary.” Castiel began to pull off his gloves. “The entire brawl seemed unnecessary.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, well. A Winchester comes across an Azazel and there’s bound to be a little bloodshed.”

Castiel crossed his arms over his chest. “Why’s that?”

Dean snorted, cutting his eyes over at Castiel, but they stuck when he realized the other man was genuinely asking. Castiel’s brow’s furrowed at how Dean blanched and brought up a hand to wipe at his mouth, hunching over in his chair. Dean was silent, looking at his father, and Castiel had almost given up on Dean answering. He was moving towards the door when Dean’s voice croaked softly as he tried to speak. He chuckled, clearing his throat, and then tried again.

“Old Man Azazel’s always been a fucking drunk. Back in the early 80s, you know before MADD and…” Dean swallowed hard. “All the DUI laws, it wasn’t that big of a deal to joy ride with a bottle of Jack between your knees, ya know.” Dean reached up to rub the back of his neck and winced. A deep feeling of dread was welling in Castiel’s stomach. “Sammy,” Dean paused, eyes flicking to Castiel, “you remember my brother Sam, he was a fussy kid. Had trouble getting to sleep. Mom would rock him,” Dean reached up to rub his eye and leaned back in his chair, “I’d walk the halls with him.” Castiel’s brows drew further, guessing there was maybe four years' difference in their ages. “But one thing that always worked was Dad,” Dean gestured to John, “hooking him in the baby seat and driving around for an hour or so.”

Castiel found that he’d stepped closer without realizing it, the thin tension in the room seeming to tether him to Dean the way it seemed to be pulling the story out of the other man. Dean gave a small shake of his head.

“It was late. Sammy had been screaming for about an hour. Everyone was on their last nerve, ya know?” Dean glanced up at him, rubbing his palms together slowly before averting his eyes again. “Dad…” Dean gave a huff that might have been a chuckle or might have been his throat closing involuntarily, Castiel wasn’t entirely sure. “Dad told her, ya know,” Dean added a fake gruffness to his voice, shimmying his shoulders cartoonishly. “‘Shut that kid up, would you? Can’t ya see I’ve worked all day?’” Dean rolled his eyes and waved his hand, but Castiel saw the tightness in his jaw as he leaned forward again. “So, Mom took him for a drive.”

Dean didn’t have to say the rest. The room emptied itself of air all on its own, and Castiel felt the pressure on his chest like a punch. The silence, aside from the hum and whir of medical machines, was absolute, so much so that even from where he stood, two feet away, Castiel heard the click of Dean’s throat as he swallowed.

“They were t-boned out on Rt. 191. She was pulling out and… and Old Azazel…” Dean shook his head. “Didn’t have his headlights on.” Dean swallowed hard and rested his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand. He tapped his finger against his bruised cheekbone in a way that Castiel knew had to hurt. Dean sucked in a great breath and then let it out. It was all the explanation Castiel needed, though when he sat back again, Dean added. “Sam was fine.”

“The wreck that the Impala was in…”

Dean looked up at him, surprised for a moment as if he hadn’t expected Castiel to remember that before he blinked and chuckled. “Uh, no… No, if Mom had been in the Impala she would have been…” Dean cleared his throat. “No. John, here, wrapped her around a telephone pole during his own booze cruise.” Dean looked over and gave Castiel a smile that seemed more like a grimace. “You know, I think you’re right. I could use some ice.” Dean opened and closed his left hand gingerly.

Castiel nodded, turning to leave, but paused at the door. “Dean?” Castiel looked over his shoulder when he didn’t get a response and found Dean looking at him expectantly. “I’m sorry. About your mother.” Dean inclined his head, blinking rapidly and forcing that painful smile as he looked at the floor.

“It was a long time ago.” Dean rubbed his palms against his jeans and re-situated himself in his chair, then added as an afterthought, “but thanks.”

Castiel made to step from the room.

“Hey, Cas?” Castiel turned and raised his eyebrows. Dean looked conflicted. “Uh… if you came back with, like, some of that Tylenol with Codeine, it’d probably be okay if you…” He gestured flippantly towards the back of his head.

Castiel felt a smile tug at his lips and found that he couldn’t suppress it when Dean’s lips tipped up, as well. “I’ll see what I can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
> 
> [Visit me on Tumblr](https://deanwinchesterfirstofhisname.tumblr.com)   
> 


	8. The Second Sweetest Ride in Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean tries his power of persuasion on Howard while Howard tries Castiel's patience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by the lovely [dmsilvisart](https://dmsilvisart.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Chapter Warnings: None

Castiel hated working the 5 to 5 shift. All the bullshit workplace injuries, fender benders and kids just trying to get out of school made for a very long day. Plus, driving the Monte around town during what could pass for rush hour in Lebanon was just short of humiliating. The stupid thing died at pretty much every stop sign. He’d have to ask Dean about that.

His stomach gave a little flutter at the thought of his mechanic and had to force himself not to pick up his phone while driving. They’d had a pretty steady conversation going via DMs since the hospital brawl, mostly Dean sharing nurse memes that nearly always made Castiel roll his eyes or asking Castiel for random medical advice. Castiel threatened to start charging, and Dean had told Castiel to just open a tab.

As Castiel pulled up to Howard’s house—it’d been nearly two months and he still couldn’t fathom claiming it as his own—he was convinced his mind was playing tricks on him. There was no way the black Chevy Impala, gleaming under the setting sun, actually sat in the driveway. That was just wishful thinking on his part.

When he got closer, he was sure he was hallucinating because Dean Winchester was standing in front of the Impala, beer in one hand, while Castiel’s father sat perched on a stool, hugging himself in the late autumn chill with a bottle of his own. Castiel pulled onto the grass next to the Impala, killing the Monte’s engine with a loud bang and a few pathetic putters in echo.

“Oh…” Dean winced as Castiel made to climb out of the driver’s seat. “That doesn’t sound good. What are you doing to this car, man?”

Castiel gave him a withering look and sighed, “I assure you Dean, I only put gas in it.”

“Boy never was much of a handy man,” Howard grumbled and Dean nudged Howard’s bicep with the back of his hand that held his beer.

“But I bet you he can tell you every ligament and tendon in your body.” Dean tipped his bottle at Castiel before taking a drink. Castiel was absolutely not blushing. It had just gotten very warm, suddenly. “Fixed me and Dad up good a couple weeks ago.”

Howard snorted, shifting on his stool. Dean regarded him with knitted brows for a moment before he apparently decided to let it go.

“Pastor Novak and I were just talking about your Buick.” Dean grinned, taking another drink, his eyebrows raising as he swallowed.

“Oh, it’s How- Dad’s Buick,” Castiel assured him pointedly, reaching for the beer bottle in Howard’s hand. It was nearly full and on the warm side. “You mind?” Castiel looked at Howard as he brought the bottle to his lips.

“No, by all means.” Howard made a big show of throwing up his hands as if severely inconvenienced—even scoffed and looked at Dean in exasperation—though he hadn’t had a drop of alcohol since 1997.

“Well, whoever gets to be the lucky guy to call ‘er Baby, I just hope I’m the one that gets to work on her.”

“Here we go,” Howard muttered and turned on the stool to face Dean fully, his arms tight over his chest. “The real reason for this visit.”

Dean held up his hands and bowed his head, taking a step back. “No, no, I know you’re a man of simple pleasures.”

Howard huffed. “ _ Delight yourself in the LORD; And He will give you the desires of your heart.”  _ He lifted a gnarled finger. “Psalms. Chapter thirty-seven, verse four.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose, his face going blank. He opened his mouth to speak, maybe to apologize, but Castiel’s voice interjected, sharp as a whip. “ _ Go, eat your bread with joy, and drink your wine with a merry heart; for God has already accepted your works. _ ” Castiel gave Howard a tart smile. “Ecclesiastes-“

“Nine-seven, yes I know.” Howard scrunched up his face, and waved Castiel off. “I s’pose it’s only fair.” Howard sighed and Castiel’s brow wrinkled, glancing at Dean. He looked hopeful, like that might have been a yes, but he didn’t follow Howard’s train of thought, either.

“What’s fair?” Castiel asked, finally, when Howard didn’t elaborate.

Howard rolled his eyes and gestured with his hand. “To give you the car, boy.” Howard waved his hand at Castiel again as if to stop Castiel from interjecting, though he wasn’t going to, too confused about the exchange to know how to argue with his father for once. “And foot the bill for fixing it up.” Howard sighed again, his face sour as he shifted on his stool and looked up at Dean. “‘m I gonna get a discount for letting you do it?”

“Dad!” Castiel opened his arms at his father, feeling his neck heat up, but Dean only laughed.

“Yes, sir.” Dean nodded deeply, grinning as he brought the bottle to his lips. “Deep discount.” Castiel felt his stomach bottom out as Dean shot him a wink before he smothered his smirk by taking a drink.

“Good.” Howard coughed with his mouth closed, trying to smother it. Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Now, don’t fight with your brothers over the will. The car is yours. You’re even.”

Castiel had brought the bottle up to take a drink and nearly choked as lukewarm suds expanded in his throat. Dean frowned, but his face shifted to neutral so quickly Castiel almost missed it. Castiel pressed the back of his hand holding the bottle to his mouth, breathing slow through his nose before he coughed out a laugh.

“Of course I’m not in your will,” he muttered, turning his back to them and sucking down the rest of the bottle in one go, suppressing the urge to chuck the bottle into the distance. He heard Dean clear his throat.

“Well, this’s just great!”

Castiel turned to find Dean reaching out to shake Howard’s hand with the most brilliant grin Castiel had ever seen stretching across his face. His father gave a disgruntled hum but shook Dean’s hand all the same.

“You won’t regret it, Pastor Novak.” Dean’s sincerity was touching, but Howard brushed it off with a wave of his hand. Dean’s shoulders relaxed as he side stepped around the old man’s stool to reach for Castiel’s bottle.

Castiel snorted a laugh as Dean did a little celebratory shimmy once out of Howard’s sight, his mouth opening wide in comic elation. Howard must have heard it because his head turned and Dean managed to slip back into a regular walk, running a hand over the back of his head as he shuffled over to the trash can and dropped the bottles in. He stepped up to Castiel, right into his personal space as he leaned to murmur so only they could hear.

“Thunder cats are go,” Dean grinned, holding out a hand and Castiel stared at it for a moment before clapping his into it and was only mildly surprised when Dean grabbed his shoulder hard with his other hand.

“I don’t understand that reference,” Castiel said and Dean’s face scrunched up in disbelief, shaking his head as he stepped back to a respectable distance so Castiel added, “But I’m happy for you.”

“Be happy for  _ you _ , man! You’re gonna have the second sweetest ride in town.” Dean banged his shoulder again, and Castiel couldn’t fight his smile.

“The first being…”

“Baby, of course.” Dean gestured to the car in front of them, his eyes going soft as all three men took a moment to appreciate her. Dean shook his head. “I’m good, man, but absolute perfection only happens once.” Castiel snorted a laugh as Dean turned his head to look back at Howard. “Hey, Mr. Novak, you mind if I drag your boy out to celebrate?”

“Oh, I can’t.” Castiel shook his head, waving a hand in front of him.

“Sure.” Howard said with a deep nod, and Dean grinned. Castiel glared at his father, who was wiggling his fingers around the grip of his cane.

Castiel leaned in and Dean leaned in even closer so that Castiel could smell the clean scent of laundry detergent under a mix of motor oil and leather. He had to clear his throat before he spoke. “I really can’t leave Howard. He doesn’t get around well-”

“My hearing is just fine, though, boy.” Howard’s voice was like a crack of thunder, both men’s backs straightening on instinct and Castiel was reminded of bleary Sunday mornings in an itchy jacket, being elbowed in the ribs by Michael every time his head started to nod down.

“Dad…”

“Go!” Howard planted his cane and leaned forward to vault himself to his feet. Both Castiel and Dean rushed to his side, but the old man managed to get upright and stay that way without aid. Howard jostled his arms to get them to pull back. “I can do it. Not an invalid.”

Castiel gave Dean a dark look before they both followed Howard to the front steps, flanking him from a foot or so away but ready to reach out should the old man wobble. He did take Castiel’s arm as he mounted the steps, taking them one at a time. Dean leaned around them to get the door, and the small stoop was definitely not big enough for three grown men.

“Lord in heaven, give me patience,” Howard muttered, elbowing both roughly as he shouldered past into the front hall.

Dean leaned to Castiel, eyes still on Howard as he spoke out the side of his mouth. “I don’t remember him being this cranky.”

“It’s  _ all _ I remember,” Castiel grumbled, sucking in a great breath before following Howard glumly.

Castiel looked back, holding open the door for Dean, who startled at the invitation inside but hurried forward all the same. Castiel shrugged out of his trench and Dean thoroughly wiped his boots on the mat while smoothing a hand down the front of his t-shirt, charcoal gray with the red lettering that read “Led Zeppelin” faded to a dull pink. They shuffled the few feet to the cased opening into the front room, both shifting on their feet as they watched Howard fall gracelessly into his armchair in front of the window. He caught sight of them as he turned in his seat to reach for a tissue on the TV tray next to him. He scowled.

“I said,  _ go, _ Castiel. Outta my sight, the both of you, before I start reading from Leviticus.”

Howard’s hand reached for his bible next to him, and Dean grabbed a handful of Castiel’s shirt. “Thanks, Mr. Novak. I’ll have him home at a decent hour.”

Dean was laughing giddily as he trotted back down the front steps, Castiel following reluctantly, glancing back up at Howard in the window. Dean spun around and threw his arms out, clearly elated, and Castiel fought a smile.

“We did it, Cas!” Dean reached over and clapped Castiel on the arm, the touch quickly becoming familiar even if the nickname was not.

“There wasn’t much of a we…”

Dean waved a hand as if credit didn’t matter before rubbing his hands together and looking fondly at his own car. “Come on, you can buy me a beer.”

“Uh…” Castiel stayed rooted to the sidewalk as Dean sauntered away, digging his hand into his front pocket for his keys. Castiel couldn’t help but admire the small bump of his ass under his jeans, noticing how his legs were naturally bowed into a stance Castiel usually attributed to having been thoroughly fucked. His face burned as he looked away just in time for Dean to turn and face him. Dean opened a hand to him and gave a questioning shake of his head before his features went flat and he rolled his eyes.

“Fine, I’ll get the drinks.” Dean opened his door with a screech and gestured for Castiel to get in the other side. Castiel was powerless to stop himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
> 
> [Visit me on Tumblr](https://deanwinchesterfirstofhisname.tumblr.com)  
> 


	9. A Night Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean takes Castiel out to celebrate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Graphic depiction of sex acts, frottage, internalized homophobia

Castiel was not nervous about getting a drink with Dean. He wasn’t nervous when he climbed into the Impala, the scent of leather with a faint hint of motor oil enveloping him like a hug. He wasn’t nervous as they pulled out of the driveway, despite Howard’s hawkish face in the window. He wasn’t nervous until Dean paused a little longer than was customary at a stop sign just short of town proper, a crossroads leading to town or away from it.

“So,” Dean said, taking one hand off the wheel to lean his wrist against it and gestured with his whole hand. “We got two choices. One,” his hand swished left, “we go to Harvelle’s. Two,” his hand swished right, north and away from town, “We go to this place in Hastings I think you’ll like.”

Dean peered over at him, eyes squinted and unreadable in the shadows thrown by the lamp post overhead. Castiel shifted in his seat and looked down at himself, coal-black chinos with an untucked, light blue button-down and suede oxfords. He ran a hand down the front of his shirt, looking at Dean, casual in his t-shirt and jeans.

“Only reason I ask is because the place in Hastings is about an hour away…” Dean trailed, dipping his head. “I usually head up there a couple times a month and haven’t been in a while.”

“Oh. Well, yeah, that’s fine.” Castiel glanced at his watch, noting that it was nearly 9.

“Awesome,” Dean replied heartily, though Castiel could barely hear him over the sound of the engine revving as they took off like a shot, seeming to fly down the road and into the Kansas night.

They were quiet, Castiel staring out the windshield with his hands sitting lightly on his thighs, the wind whistling outside. He glanced at the speedometer and saw that they were cruising along at 80, nothing but a double yellow line and darkness ahead. Dean took a hand off the wheel to reach for the radio, clicking it on, and the local classic rock station was playing an Eddie Money song. Dean drummed the beat out on the steering wheel, nodding his head from side to side with the music.

The drive passed more quickly than Castiel anticipated. They lost the station after about half an hour and Dean switched to a tape—an actual audio cassette—of Led Zeppelin songs, and then they were both nodding their head along with the music. Castiel couldn’t tell if the thin tension around them was just in his head or if Dean was feeling it, too. His eyes remained fixed on the road, not even a glance at the passenger seat, though Castiel had caught himself staring a few times. He was no poet, but he felt like someone should be writing sonnets about Dean Winchester’s profile.

When they hit the Hastings city limits, Castiel was talking himself down from the ledge of a full-blown crush. Dean was straight, that much was obvious, and Castiel was only going to get hurt if he continued to pine after him. Outside of work, Dean was the only person Castiel spoke to besides Howard and his brothers; his friends in Chicago were texting him less and less. If Castiel wanted to spend time with anyone that he hadn’t been covered in bodily fluids with or hadn’t known him since he was born, Dean seemed to be the only show in town, or at least a conduit to more people their age.

Castiel hadn’t been paying attention to their surroundings, so when Dean cut down an alleyway, the sudden dimness caused him to look around. They came out on the other side into a sparsely populated parking lot, and Dean maneuvered over to park underneath a lamppost, far away from the other vehicles. When he killed the engine, Castiel grabbed for his door handle but paused when Dean didn’t do the same. The young man was looking out the windshield, hands gripping the steering wheel, but his face was in shadow so Castiel couldn’t read his expression.

“Dean?”

“Yup, let’s go,” he replied, animating suddenly and throwing his door open, Castiel scrambling to do the same. “Lock the door, will you?”

Castiel depressed the lock before closing his door as Dean rounded the car to open the trunk. Castiel padded over, hands in his pockets, and found Dean shaking out the collar of a dusty-blue, plaid work shirt with white and red striping. He snapped together the three middle buttons before straightening out the collar and shooting out his arms to push up the sleeves to his elbows. His eyes caught Castiel’s and, dammit, he’d been staring again. Dean looked in the trunk again, grabbing up a bottle and sprayed it in an x formation across his chest. A dark, woodsy scent enveloped them, and Dean was about to toss it back into the trunk when his eye caught on Castiel.

He offered the bottle. “You want some?”

Castiel felt his ears burn at the thought of coming home smelling like another man. He shifted his feet. “Uh, no. I’ve already…” he gestured to himself and Dean hummed, dropping the bottle back in and slamming the trunk.

Dean cocked his head, indicating the mouth of the parking lot, wider than the back alley entrance they’d taken. Castiel sidled up beside him and they walked side by side down a sparsely populated street before turning onto another. There were more people, now. Several bars lined the street, music wafting from this entrance, the dull hum of chatter coming from that one. Dean held out an arm as he stopped, Castiel’s chest-bumping into the back of his hand, to indicate that this door, with the large, intimidating doorman, was their stop.

“Hey, Tiny,” Dean greeted and the huge man gave him a small twitch of a smile as Dean pulled out his money clip and peeled off a few 20s. Castiel panicked, reaching back for his wallet. “I got it, Cas,” Dean said, handing the money to the doorman, who smiled underneath his mustache, reaching out a hand to clasp Dean’s before pulling him in for a light chest bump.

He gestured them in and Dean stepped through the door without looking back, Castiel scurrying after him. The music was loud, dance-pop blaring, and Castiel stopped in his tracks when he focused on the dance floor, finding men grinding against each other. His feet felt glued to the floor, heartbeat ratcheting up, and he only realized Dean had been calling his name, or Dean’s version of it—Cas!—when Dean took a step back towards him. Castiel’s wide eyes fell on Dean’s, finding a reassuring openness there, and he knew Dean could tell when the reality of the situation clanked into place— _ Dean took me to a gay bar. Where he knows the doorman. Dean is… _ —because Dean’s eyes slanted in a sexy smirk that made Castiel’s stomach flip over itself.

Dean cocked his head, gesturing him over to the bar, and Castiel followed dumbly, watching Dean say hi to someone and pat him on the shoulder as he passed. He managed to slot himself into an empty space at the bar, grinning and chatting with the man at his right before he looked over his shoulder and opened his arm, inviting Castiel to step closer.

“This is Cas,” Dean hollered over the music, his hand landing solidly on Castiel’s bicep. “He just moved here from Chicago.”

Castiel smiled and offered a hand which the other man took, his blue eyes twinkling, mouth pulling into a full smile. His hand was warm around Castiel’s, rough like Dean’s but he was burlier, barrel-chested, and round-faced under his short beard. Castiel glanced at Dean, who was leaning over the bar and chatting with the bartender as he uncapped two bottles, laughing at whatever Dean was telling him. Dean dropped a 20 on the bar top, giving the bartender a wink and the other man, looking demure, gave Dean a coy smile. Dean shook his head as he turned back to Castiel, putting one of the beers in his hand.

“Benny and I met here, what? Couple years ago?” Dean asked and Benny nodded, clanking the neck of his bottle against Dean’s. Dean in turn clanked his against Castiel’s. They all drank, and Dean reached to pat Benny on the chest, a friendly gesture. “I’m gonna take him around to meet some people. We’ll be back.”

They did meet a few more people on their journey away from the bar, Dean introducing him always as “Cas, who just moved here from Chicago,” his hand warm on Castiel’s shoulder blade. They ended up clustered around a tall table with Benny and a few other guys Dean knew. Garth, a dentist in town, Victor who worked for the IRS and Ash who skirted the question of employment altogether but alluded to some sort of intelligence background. Castiel had never seen Dean smile so much, genuinely smile and laugh. It was clear from seeing him now that a lot of what he normally projected was a show, machismo bravado, and frat-boy humor.

“He’s pretty great, isn’t he?”

Castiel jumped, turning his head to find Benny leaned in to speak directly into his ear. Castiel gave him a small smile. “Yeah, I never… I didn’t even know…”

Benny let out a hearty laugh. “Yep, that sounds like Dean.” He tipped his head back and took a drink before setting the bottle down and turning to Castiel. “You wanna dance?”

“Uh.” Castiel looked across the table to Dean who had been watching them out of the corner of his eye. Dean threw him a wink and returned to his conversation. Castiel felt disappointment prickle at the back of his neck. “Yeah, sure.”

Benny wrapped a strong arm around Castiel’s shoulders and they wound their way onto the dance floor. It was packed, gyrating bodies all pressed together in a mix of sweat and cologne. Benny was a good dancer, fun to talk to and laugh with, but Castiel kept stealing looks over at the table, once finding Dean engaged with the group and then standing by himself, drink in hand and watching the merriment out on the floor. Their eyes met instantly and Castiel gave a quick jerk of his head, an invitation, but Dean pursed his lips and shook his head, lifting his bottle to them before drinking deeply. The light was gone from his eyes.

Castiel placed his hands on Benny’s chest, cocking his head back over at the table, and Benny followed his gaze. He gave Castiel a look of understanding before unwinding his arms from around him. Castiel stepped away and wasn’t prepared for when Benny’s large hand closed around his wrist, jerking him back quickly and planting a kiss on him so hard Castiel saw stars. Benny’s tongue surged past Castiel’s lips, tasting him quickly before pulling back. Castiel blinked up at him in wonder, taking in Benny’s giddy grin, before the other man shoved his shoulder, pushing him away to turn and dance up on someone who wrapped his arms around Benny with a laugh.

Castiel felt a bit dizzy, feet plodding careful steps towards the table as he reached up to wipe his mouth. He hadn’t been kissed in a while, and he hadn’t been kissed like that in a  _ long _ while. His eyes met Dean’s as he stepped up to him, taking in Dean’s raised eyebrow, and Castiel reached up to rub at his ear, which suddenly felt like it was on fire. Dean let out a hearty chuckle and threw an arm around Castiel’s shoulders, giving him a rough squeeze before draining the rest of his beer. Dean said something Castiel couldn’t quite hear and let his head tilt to the side in misunderstanding, then cocked his ear towards Dean. Dean leaned in, and Castiel heard him wet his lips before he spoke.

“You want another, or you ready to go?”

Castiel shivered at Dean’s hot breath against the shell of his ear, feeling goosebumps rise on his skin and blood rush from his head to his pelvis. He cleared his throat, turning to face Dean, who didn’t step back so their faces were mere inches from each other, almost nose to nose. Dean was looking at his mouth and it looked like it took a lot of effort for him to meet Castiel’s eyes.

“We should probably go.” Castiel’s voice was uneven, deeper than usual, and he watched Dean’s pupils dilate ever so slightly before he stepped back and gave a nod, breaking the spell.

Dean threw his arm around Castiel’s shoulders and kept it there as they made their way to the exit. Castiel was disappointed to lose the warmth when Dean stepped ahead of him to walk out the door, the air substantially cooler than when they’d entered. Dean gave a shiver.

“Cold front came through,” he muttered and just as Castiel’s hand brushed his, fingers reaching to hold on, Dean shoved his hands in his pockets.

Castiel’s brow furrowed, glancing at Dean’s profile, and the other man resolutely did not look back at him. They were silent the rest of the way to the car, Dean opening Castiel’s side first and closed him inside before rounding the front of the car. Castiel leaned over to unlock the door for him, and Dean gave him an appreciative smile as he settled into the driver’s seat.

Castiel was utterly perplexed, not sure if he was receiving mixed signals or distinctly-uninterested-but-friendly signals. He watched Dean’s profile, the streetlights of Hastings giving way to the pitch-black prairie in the deepest part of the night. Led Zeppelin was singing “all of my love” and Dean was humming along, though Castiel wasn’t sure if he realized it or not.

“I… I had a nice time tonight,” Castiel said spastically and Dean’s head whipped to him but the car didn’t swerve even a centimeter. He reached for the dial on the stereo and turned down to background noise.

“Huh?”

“I said… uh… I had fun tonight. Thank you for… inviting me.”

“Oh yeah, sure any time, man.” Dean gave a casual wave his hand before hooking his wrist over the steering wheel and settling into his seat more, rubbing at his eyes with the other hand.

“You good to drive?”

Dean gave him a sideways glance, his lips puckering in displeasure. “I’m fine.”

“Okay, sorry just asking.” Castiel held up his hands and sighed, looking out the window, but there was nothing to see. Just darkness.

“Seems like you and Benny hit it off.” Dean’s voice sounded strange, and he cleared his throat before cracking his neck from side to side.

“He’s a good dancer,” Castiel admitted with a deep nod of his head, eyes fixing on the road ahead.

“And you… like that? The dancing?” Dean’s eyebrows were raised in question and Castiel glanced over at him, giving a shrug of a shoulder.

“It’s fun, I guess.” Castiel looked at him then. “You don’t like to dance.” It wasn’t a question, and Dean huffed a laugh.

“I don’t mind the slow ones. But no, not a good dancer.” Castiel watched Dean’s hand tighten around the wheel and twist. “You’re really good, though.”

Castiel’s laugh was more of an amused exhalation. “Thanks.”

“I can give you Benny’s number if you want…” Dean’s hand twisted on the steering wheel again, and Castiel watched it with a sort of morbid fascination.

“That’s okay. If he wanted me to have it, he would have given it to me.”

Dean’s head turned to look at Castiel, keeping an eye on the road in his peripheral, but they were the only car out tonight. “You sure? I can-”

“How d’you find that place, anyway?” Castiel interrupted, and Dean looked back at the road, lips pressing together tight. “It doesn’t really seem like your scene… since you don’t dance.”

Dan shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “Uh, there was a bit of a… an uproar when it opened.” Dean glanced at him. “Read about it in the paper.”

“And you decided to go check it out?” Castiel questioned slowly, and Dean gave a short nod.

Castiel continued to watch him, though Dean kept his eyes on the road, his jaw tightening and he shifted in his seat as the silence stretched. Finally, he went to reach for the stereo again but Castiel stopped him, the pads of his fingers pressing to Dean’s knuckles and Dean cleared his throat, hand retreating back to the steering wheel.

“You know, the Buick is coming along real nice. I dropped the engine. Not fully disassembled yet but so far no broken parts. She may stay all original, after all.”

Castiel chuckled, letting his head fall back against the headrest. “That’s great, Dean.” 

#

They were quiet for the duration of the ride, though Dean didn’t move to turn the music up again. Castiel alternated between staring out the windshield and staring at Dean, memorizing the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his eyelashes splayed against his cheeks when he blinked. Castiel wondered what the stubble on his jaw felt like, how soft his hair was.

It was close to midnight when Dean pulled into Castiel’s driveway, the front window dark, and Castiel was grateful his father wasn’t waiting up for him. Dean stopped the car far enough back that the floodlight didn’t come on and he put it in park. Then killed the engine. The headlights blinked out, the only light for miles the single bulb over the front stoop and the muted light of the half-moon. Castiel could barely make out Dean’s features in the shadows, one hand still resting on the steering wheel, his head tilted down.

Castiel could feel his heart racing, that electric feeling of anticipation buzzing in his veins, and he tried to calm it. Castiel was a sucker for a pretty face and Dean’s was probably the most beautiful face Castiel had ever seen in person, but that just meant that Castiel would be more prone to dumb decisions and reckless acts. Dean shifted in his seat, turning his body towards Castiel, his arm going across the back of the seat, and Castiel sat up straighter, their eyes meeting in the murky dark.

“I’m…” Dean swallowed hard and Castiel felt his fingers tap against the leather close to his shoulder. “I’m not very good at this.” Dean shook his head and let out a soft chuckle, biting his lip hard as he looked out the windshield again. “With girls, it’s always been easy, but for some reason-”

Dean’s words cut off abruptly as Castiel reached out to cup his neck, cool fingers meeting heated skin. Dean seemed to melt into it, turning his head toward the touch, and Castiel leaned in close, lips mere centimeters apart, his nose brushing Dean’s. Dean’s hand on the seat back clenched into a fist, his breath coming in short pants, his eyes closed and waiting. When Castiel didn’t move, Dean peeked at him then opened his eyes fully.

Castiel could see every emotion play across his face so plainly it seemed almost unfair. Anticipation, anxiety, want, fear, and longing projected in a bare moment before Dean seemed to steel himself, the hand on the setback coming to thread clumsily through Castiel’s hair, fisting it before pulling Castiel the rest of the way in and crushing their lips together.

Castiel felt the contact in every synapse of his body as if a bottle rocket had been lit in his chest and shot out to all his extremities. Castiel could feel Dean’s blunt nails against his scalp, Dean’s pulse thrumming against his palm, rapid as a hummingbird’s wing. Castiel was surprised when he felt the tip of Dean’s tongue trace his bottom lip, then the top. When he went to drag it across the seam, Castiel opened for him, resulting in a low rumble from Dean’s chest.

Dean shifted more in his seat, inching closer, and Castiel felt Dean’s other hand fall to his knee, his palm warm through the denim of Castiel’s jeans. Castiel’s arm snaked around Dean’s waist, trying to pull him closer. His hand flattened against Dean’s shoulder blade, feeling the muscles push back against his fingers. Shifting to his knees, Dean cradled Castiel’s head as he moved to tip him back, one arm braced on the back of the seat to hold himself over him. Castiel’s shoe got tangled in Dean’s shirt as he tried to get it up onto the seat, ripping open the snap-buttons on accident, but the effect was still intoxicating. Dean sat back, shrugging his shoulders back and shaking the shirt off his arms as Castiel angled his shoulder blades against the armrest, hands reaching for the hem of Dean’s t-shirt.

Castiel moaned at the feeling of warm skin over a soft belly, the strength of Dean’s body evident even without the muscles of his abdomen being notched and grooved. He felt Dean flex anyway and Castiel’s smile was kissed away in an instant, Dean falling down over him, hips flush against his. They gasped each other’s breath, erections slotted against each other and the friction was both too much and not enough at the same time. One of Dean’s hands pressed to the door as the other reached for Castiel’s face, thumb smudging over his full bottom lip. Dean began to roll his hips and Castiel arched, mouth opening in a low moan that vibrated in his chest.

Dean slipped his thumb into Castiel’s mouth and Castiel closed his lips around it on instinct, tongue sliding against the pad of Dean’s finger. Dean muttered an expletive, his head tipping back before his back curved and thrust powerfully, Castiel’s head bumping back into the door with the force of it. Dean’s thumb slid out of Castiel’s mouth, leaving a wet trail across his cheek as his hand scooped back into Castiel’s hair, palm cushioning the bump, a gesture Castiel found oddly endearing even under the intoxicating haze of their frantic rutting.

“Fuck, Cas. I’m…” Dean choked, his bicep curling as if trying to tug him closer and Castiel turned his face into Dean’s forearm, his lips rasping against the other man’s skin, before suctioning against it, biting and laving it with his tongue. “Jesus…”

Castiel looked up into his face, the darkness doing nothing to hide how beautiful Dean was at this close proximity. He bit his bottom lip hard enough that Castiel wanted to reach up and tug it free, afraid he would draw blood. But that would mean Castiel would have to untangle his hands from under Dean’s t-shirt, let go of his warm waist and Dean was releasing it slowly now, so it was moot. Dean’s lips parted, choking on his breath, eyes squeezed shut, hips working hard in a way that Castiel associated with getting fucked so good he couldn’t think straight. The friction was maddeningly insufficient, but he’d be damned if he stopped Dean now; the loss of it might actually kill them.

Dean’s eyes flew open at Castiel’s low growl and his soft hands climbing higher under Dean’s shirt, fingers pressing hard against the muscles in his shoulders, pulling himself closer to Dean, planting his forehead against Dean’s clavicle. Dean’s hand clenched tighter in Castiel’s hair, the whine in Castiel’s throat becoming almost rhythmic as Dean pressed his face into the top of Castiel’s head.

“Dean…” Castiel’s voice was a warning, a low rumble and Dean lost it, hips pressing hard against Castiel’s, a choked gurgle passing his lips as he hissed and panted through his release.

Castiel’s body curled in, unable to stop himself as wet warmth spread against the crotch of his boxers. Castiel’s short nails left half-moons in Dean’s skin, a choked sound clicking in the back of his throat. They stayed that way, Castiel panting down the collar of Dean’s t-shirt as Dean’s stirred the hair at the top of Castiel’s head, Dean’s vision vibrating and unseeing out the passenger window. Their hips eventually stopped moving, their pleasure done and only sensitive, uncomfortable wetness left in its wake. Castiel’s neck began to ache from his awkward position and he could feel Dean’s arm trembling to hold his weight against the door.

Very slowly, Castiel let his hands relax against Dean’s shoulder blades, felt the twitch of Dean’s muscles in response. Castiel’s soft hands smoothed around his rib cage, allowing himself to settle back against the seat. Dean let Castiel’s hair to slip out of his fingers, moving to plant his hand on armrest next to Castiel’s head, alleviating some weight from his other arm. Castiel looked up at Dean’s face in the dark, lips full and red from being kissed, cheeks pink from orgasm, green eyes piercing even in the barely-there glow of the moon.

Castiel reached up to touch the side of his face and that’s what broke the spell, Dean’s eyes filling with anxiety as he pushed back to sit on his heels, still between Castiel’s legs. He reached to rub the back of his neck, trying to look anywhere but at Castiel before letting his hands fall to his thighs, thumb hooked around them so his elbows flared, making himself large and Castiel wondered if what they’d done had made Dean feel small.

“Uh,” Dean attempted, squinting out the windshield as Castiel struggled to sit up, closing his legs as gently as he could, the sensation of wet fabric against his overly sensitive skin almost torturous. “That… That…”

“Was unexpected,” Castiel finished for him, though he wasn’t sure that’s what Dean was going to say. Maybe Dean had expected it. The thought made Castiel feel slightly hollow, and Dean’s low chuckle did little to alleviate the feeling.

“Uh, yeah.” Dean reached up to wipe his nose and then looked thoughtfully at the seatback. “But really great." He paused. “Thanks.”

Castiel blinked up at him. He’d never been the hook-up type, but he didn’t think it was customary to thank each other afterward.

“It’s late. You should probably… uh….” Dean gestured to the house and Castiel bit back the bitter chuckle that threatened to pass his lips.

“Yeah.”

Castiel managed to untangle his legs from Dean, pulling himself upright in the seat and ran his hands through his hair, trying to ignore the sticky wetness inside his boxers. He didn’t look at Dean, forced his insides to harden as he reached out, wrist turning so he could clap hard at Dean’s chest twice, the same affectionately neutral gesture Dean so often laid on him. He thought he heard Dean’s breathing hitch.

“See you later.”

The Impala’s door screeched in the silent night and Castiel ignored Dean’s soft “Cas” as the door slammed shut, pretending he didn’t hear it as he walked to his front door with as much dignity as a man could with come drying in his pubic hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
> 
> [Visit me on Tumblr](https://deanwinchesterfirstofhisname.tumblr.com)   
> 


	10. Insults and Injuries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A work-place accident brings Dean to the ER. Castiel is determined not to let what happened between them cloud his judgment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: graphic depictions of injury/blood loss. Mild homophobia. Mention of violence driven by homophobia

Castiel was in hour three of a twelve-hour shift when the commotion started in the ambulance bay. He looked up from his charting and leaned back to peek around the wall that separated him from admitting when his eyes widened, scrambling to get out of his seat. Two men struggled to maintain their grip on the young man between them, one arm hooked around the young man’s back and under each of his legs, all of them shouting. Blood was dripping fast onto the linoleum.

“Hey, hey!” Castiel’s voice, deep and commanding, boomed through the entryway as he fumbled to pull on gloves, not noticing that even his coworkers, who weren’t entirely used to it yet, silenced along with the injured man and his helpers. “What’s the problem?”

Everyone spoke at once as Castiel leaned to look at the blood-soaked pant leg of the injured man.

“He’s dying, man! Do somethin’!”

“Was sawing off a bolt and just-”

“Cas?”

Castiel’s hands were already crawling up the man’s leg, searching for the source of the bleeding when he looked up into the pale face of Dean Winchester, green eyes hazy with pain. Castiel froze, both hands wrapped around Dean’s thigh, having found the source of the bleed nearly at the apex of his legs. He snapped out of it as Meg and Anna rolled a gurney over and helped the men set Dean down on it with no grace whatsoever.

“What happened?” Castiel asked, poking at the wound, feeling something sharp poke him back and Dean ground his teeth.

“He was sawing off a bolt and the cut wheel flew off the die grinder.”

“What?” Castiel asked his brows furrowing, stumbling as they started to move, trying to hold pressure while Anna finally handed him the gauze he’d been gesturing for.

“Tiny saw blade nearly took my dick off,” Dean clarified with a manic chuckle. “Lucky I was hanging left today.”

Castiel looked up into the young man’s face, finding him disturbingly ashen, and hopped up onto the end of the gurney as Anna dropped the box of gauze on Dean’s stomach. Castiel pulled more and packed it against Dean’s inner thigh, hollering for them to roll them into trauma one and to alert Dr. Edlund.

“When was your last tetanus shot?” Castiel asked as they rolled to a stop. Anna immediately came in with shears.

“Hell if I know, man.” Dean groaned, trying to struggle up onto his elbows. “I feel really dizzy.”

“Lay back!” Castiel commanded and Meg put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, pushing him back into a prone position as Anna began cutting through his coveralls and jeans.

“Hey! These are my favorite pair of-” Dean had started to sit up again but Castiel’s hand came up and grabbed his shoulder, pushing him back down and when he pulled back a large bloody handprint was left there. Dean stared at it dumbly. “Shit, am I dying?”

“Not on my watch,” Castiel assured him, blue eyes holding onto his and Dean swallowed hard, giving a small nod. Castiel nodded back.

“Jesus, Anna!” Dean winced as Anna sliced right through his boxer briefs, exposing him from ankle to hip bone and Castiel’s hands fumbled to reapply pressure as she peeled back the layers of fabric.

“Did it knick his femoral?” Anna asked, leaning over to look as she handed Castiel more gauze. Castiel tilted his hand to look, blood spurted and he could barely see the piece of metal glint under the medical lighting above.

“I can’t tell. Get some saline.”

Anna grabbed for a bottle on the cart in the corner and waited for Castiel to nod before she squeezed some of the liquid onto the wound. The tiny saw blade was barely visible, deeply embedded into the meat of Dean’s inner thigh.

“Should we remove it?” Anna muttered and Castiel hummed noncommittally.

“He could bleed out.”

“ _ I’m right here you know _ !” Dean whined and Castiel looked up at him, blue eyes steady and calm, and raised his eyebrows at Dean, forcing him to focus. Once he had the other man’s attention, he made a big effort to suck air in through his nose, watching Dean mimic him and then let it out through his mouth, Dean did the same back.

“Where’s Edlund?” Castiel asked lowly, looking up at Meg who was attaching wires and cuffs to Dean, each machine coming alive with beeps as they settled in place.

“Cardiac arrest in ER-2. Blood pressure is 95 over 60…”

Castiel’s jaw set. “Dean, you’re gonna be fine. It’s a flesh wound.”

“Why am I bleeding so much?” Dean struggled to look down his chest as Anna continued her butchery on his clothing, cutting out his other leg.

“Not sure.” Castiel peeked under his hands again, the blood still rushing out at an alarming rate. Castiel leaned down and pulled Dean’s ankle up to rest on his shoulder.

“HEY!” Dean exclaimed as Anna pulled his pants off him, leaving him naked from the waist down, and Castiel looked away.

Meg snorted. “Calm down, I’m pretty sure everyone in this room has seen your dick at least once. Well, maybe not Castiel.”

Dean and Castiel’s eyes met briefly before Dean looked away quickly. “Uh, should I feel sick? Like I might barf?”

“Hang a bag of O-neg.”

“We need a doctor to-”

“You want him to bleed out?” Castiel barked and Meg’s mouth snapped shut, shoes squeaking as she scurried out of the room.

“I’m gonna die half-naked under another dude. My dad is gonna kill me.” Castiel looked down at Dean, his head cocking to the side and Dean’s hazy eyes met his. “Did I say that out loud?”

Castiel felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth despite himself. “Yeah, but you’re not gonna die.” Castiel adjusted Dean’s ankle on his shoulder as Anna finished cutting off the rest of his clothes.

“And now you’re fully naked!” Anna patted Dean’s chest as she took his shredded clothing over to drop in a plastic bag and pulled a gown from a drawer. Castiel waited for Anna to get Dean into the gown and covered before he looked down again, finding the gauze now soaked red.

“Seriously,” Dean slurred, and Castiel’s blue eyes met unfocused green. “I don’t feel…”

And then he vomited, splashing the front of Castiel’s scrubs, and the monitors began to scream. “Get Edlund in here right fucking now.” Castiel’s voice boomed in the small room, Anna turning Dean’s head as he continued to vomit and shake. “ _ Meg!” _

“Right here!” Meg skidded to a stop nearly falling in the slop on the floor as she struggled to hang the blood bag on the hook.

“Dean you’re fine,” Anna was whispering, petting Dean’s hair and wiping his mouth but his teeth were chattering. “We need Edlund to approve-”

“Cas…” Dean croaked.

“Anna more gauze, take over for me here.”

Anna managed to slip under Castiel’s arm, apply pressure, and with a small boost took his place on the gurney under Dean’s leg. Castiel grabbed an 18-gauge from the drawer.

“Cas.” Dean tried to say again, coughing and choking on more bile in his throat. He felt Castiel’s hand on the side of his face, gently turning his head towards him to let the bile dribble out of his mouth.

“Dean you’re going to be fine.”

“‘m sorry.”

Castiel was swabbing the crook of his elbow with something impossibly cold. Dean didn’t like it. “You’re not the first person to barf on me, and you won’t be the last.”

“No… no’ tha’.” Dean’s hand closed around his wrist. “‘m sorry I didn’t call.”

Castiel waited a beat before he leaned down close to Dean’s ear. “Don’t worry about that right now. Focus on staying awake.”

“You deser’ be’er,” Dean mumbled and Castiel glanced up at the other nurses, Anna reaching for more gauze, Meg scurrying from the room and yelling for Edlund. “Knew you’re too goo’ f’r me.”

Then Dean surrendered to the black.

#

“I’m going the fuck home!”

The shout could be heard all the way past Admissions, where Castiel had just stopped to drop off a chart for a woman in triage. Meg had a foot up on the desk, scribbling on a chart of her own, when her eyes slid up to Castiel before giving him a dark look. Castiel heaved a sigh, dropped the chart into the rack and started making his way down the hall. He could hear the low hum of Anna’s voice trying to soothe and then the boom of Dean’s voice in reply.

“I can’t stay here. I have to go back to work. Get this thing outta me!”

Castiel’s knuckles rapped sharply on the doorway to Room 8. Dean stood next to the bed, gown sliding off one shoulder, steadying himself on the IV stand. He was scratching at the tape at his elbow, Anna’s hands trying to peel his fingers back.

“Do not remove that.”

Castiel’s firm tone caused both of them to stop and look up, relief showing on Anna’s face as Dean’s ears reddened. Castiel stepped into the room, eyes still on Dean, who looked sheepish, leaning heavily on his left leg. Castiel heard him snort as Castiel slipped the chart out of the rack at the end of the bed.

“Cas, will you please get me whatever I need to sign to get out of here?”

Anna scoffed. “ _ Cas _ , will you please tell this moron that I’m not letting him leave ADA-“

“Look if you want me to take a stupid placard, fine. I‘ll take one, but I ain’t parking the Impala in a handicap spot.”

Anna blinked at him. Castiel flipped a page on his chart. “ADA in this instance means ‘against doctors advice.’ It’s not a reference to the Americans with Disabilities Act.” Castiel looked up to see Anna suck her bottom lip into her mouth to keep from laughing and Dean gave him a blank stare, though his neck was getting very red.

“Oh…” Dean looked down at his socked feet and scratched at his ear.

“Dean, do you know what happened to you today?” Castiel asked, flipping another page in the chart, though he didn’t miss Dean rolling his eyes.

“I busted up my dad’s grinder. He’s probably fucking pissed-”

“You lost nearly half your total blood volume. You went into shock-“

“Sorry again for barfing on you,” Dean mumbled, still not meeting his gaze. Castiel continued, ignoring the apology

.“-you coded for two minutes and forty-seven seconds-”

“I was  _ dead _ ?” Dean’s head whipped to Anna. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“-and we put 6 pints of blood in you.”

Dean looked back at Castiel, their eyes meeting, and Dean swallowed hard. “Was any of it my brother’s?”

Castiel sighed, dropping the chart back into the rack on the end of the bed. “You experienced a severe trauma.” Castiel stepped closer to him and Dean shuffled back a step. “You need rest.”

When Castiel stepped even closer, the back of Dean’s legs hit the side of the bed and he winced, losing his balance. Dean sat down hard and an anguished groan sounded in his throat, but he refused to let it out of his mouth.

“‘m really fine.” Dean continued to grumble as he turned, throwing one leg up onto the bed and gingerly grabbing his other knee to manually lift his injured leg.

Castiel’s hands slid under Dean’s thigh to aid him on instinct and Dean squeaked, a sound that made Anna burst out laughing. Dean glared at her hotly. “Anna, can you see about getting Mr. Winchester something for his pain?”

“Mr. Winchester?” Dean snorted.

“Ice chips, it is,” Anna sing-songed, reacting to Dean’s heated glare by blowing a kiss as she exited the room, red ponytail swinging.

“Lay back,” Castiel encouraged, in the low, soothing rumble he used for children and the elderly. Dean’s eyes widened as Castiel tucked the blankets around him.

Once Dean was settled, green eyes tracking Castiel’s every move, Castiel pulled the stethoscope from around his neck and stuck it in his ears. After holding the metal end in his palm for a few seconds, he hooked a finger in the neck of Dean’s hospital gown and pulled it away from his body to slip the line in. Dean rolled his eyes but sat patiently with a bored expression until Castiel was satisfied with what he heard.

“Find anything in there?”

“Your reputation notwithstanding, you do, indeed, have a heart.” Castiel looped the stethoscope back around his neck, and Dean gave him a tart smile. Castiel returned it, pulling a pen light from his pocket. “And it’s functioning as it should.”

Dean glared but dutifully followed Castiel’s finger with his eyes. “I got a brain in there, too?”

Castiel hummed. “Test was inconclusive.” Dean snorted as Castiel reached for the blanket. “I need to check your bandage.”

Dean dropped his hand to hold the blanket in place. “For what?”

“Seepage.”

Dean made a face. “My bandage is fine, Cas.”

Castiel sighed, turning Dean’s hand over to slot two fingers against his wrist and flipped his wrist to look at his watch. “Anna just checked it?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Wasn’t written on your chart.” Castiel muttered, waiting for the second hand to make its journey around his watch face before he dropped his arm and began to turn, as if going to get said chart. He sighed dramatically. “Hope she doesn’t get written up for that…”

“Fuck,  _ fine, _ ” Dean lifted his hands and allowed Castiel to peel the blanket back. Castiel’s fingers went to shift his gown up and Dean muttered, “Not the way I wanted you to see my dick for the first time, but here we are.”

Castiel took a step back, his arms falling to his sides as he glared at Dean, who glanced away quickly, but the heat of Castiel’s stare couldn’t be ignored. Dean shifted on the bed and winced at the effort.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Dean flicked a hand out as if flinging the apology, and Castiel rolled his eyes. “I’m not… I didn’t mean to  _ not _ call. I just…”

“Didn’t call?” Castiel lifted an eyebrow.

Dean glanced up and looked away quickly again. “Yeah.”

“It’s fine.” Castiel stepped forward and reached for the hem of Deans gown. “I’m going to check your bandage now.”

“Sure. Fine.” Dean let his head fall back and sighed as if resigned to his fate. “This is humiliating.”

Castiel ignored him and shifted Dean’s gown up and away from his bandage, making sure to keep him covered to respect his modesty. Castiel poked at the edge, and Dean’s thigh tensed. “Did that hurt?”

Dean sighed. “No, dude. It didn’t. Can you please just-” Castiel saw movement under Dean’s gown right before he ripped the blanket back over himself.

Castiel shook his head and righted himself. “Uh, I’ll see if you’re clear for another dose of Toradol.”

“Don’t-” Dean’s fingers whispered across his forearm as he made to leave. “Don’t go…” Dean’s throat closed on his sentence and Castiel blinked at him. “I’m…” Dean huffed out a humorless laugh and reached up to press the heels of his hands to his eyes and rubbed vigorously. “I’m not good at this.”

Castiel crossed his arms over his chest. “So I’ve noticed.”

Dean tried to glare up at him, but it was more of a pout. Castiel had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep a smile at bay. “You don’t have to be an asshole.”

“Oh,  _ I’m _ the asshole?” Castiel cut himself off and threw his hands in the air, bowing his head in concession. “Nope, you’re right. I apologize, Mr. Winchester. Let me go see about that Toradol.”

“No, Cas, hey,” Dean gripped Castiel’s wrist and he let out a martyred sigh, looking at the ceiling before turning back to Dean. Dean shifted in his seat and Castiel saw something shift across Dean’s face before he looked away. “Do you want to like… grab another drink up in Hastings or…” Dean cleared his throat. “Or… my place, ya know if you want.” His eyebrows went up hopefully. “I could make you dinner?”

Castiel felt uneasiness crawl over him as he looked away, chewing his bottom lip absently. Dean Winchester was the worst kind of temptation, but Castiel knew this would never work.

“Dean-”

“Oh, man. So I got this awesome rack of ribs for fixing up ol’ Cuevas’ milk machine-“

“Dean, I- wait,” Castiel stopped, frowning. “You fixed a milk machine?”

“Yeah.”

“…for a rack of ribs?”

“Yeah, you know, I know their son. We were buddies in high school, so…” Dean shrugged.

“How did you even know how to fix a milk machine?” Castiel rubbed his forehead.

“Hey,” Dean sliced his hand through the air. “It’s got a motor,” Dean jerked his thumb back at himself and pursed his lips, “I can fix it.” Dean gave him a charming smile.

Castel narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why don’t we go to  _ Louella’s _ ?” Dean’s face blanched, his jaw clenching. “That’s the date spot in town, isn’t it?”

Dean’s face was turning redder by the second. “Uh, well, that’s more of a third-date place…”

“Wouldn’t  _ your place _ be more of a third-date place?” Castiel smiled tartly and Dean scrunched his eyes closed before giving a sheepish smile. “How about  _ Harvelle’s, _ then?”

Dean looked more uncomfortable by the second. “Cas-“

“Dean.” Castiel closed his eyes and held out a hand. He took a deep breath before opening them. “If you can’t be seen in public with me, I can’t go out with you. I’m sorry.”

Dean clenched his jaw. “Dude, you don’t know what it’s like here.”

“I know  _ exactly _ what it’s like here.” Castiel snapped, leaning onto the edge of Dean’s bed so they were nearly nose to nose, and Dean’s eyes widened at the fire raging behind Castiel’s. “I had a twelve year old in here the other night with multiple face lacs, a broken rib and two black eyes tell me that he was out and proud and no amount of ass kickings was going to change that.”

Castiel’s throat closed just thinking about that kid. They’d exchanged numbers and had texted a few times since. It was nice to have another person to talk to, even if he was twelve and only talked about Fortnight.

“Cas-”

“No, Dean.” A pause as Castiel stood to his full height again. “I’m not saying it’s easy because it absolutely is not. Especially here. But I’m…” Castiel swallowed hard and hated himself for faltering when he took in Dean’s beautiful face.

Dean let his head fall back against the pillows and his eyes fell closed. “I can’t.”

Castiel gave a bitter smile but hid it when Dean opened his eyes again. “And that’s okay. Only you know when you’re ready.”

Dean’s hand slapped down hard on the blankets. “It’s not a matter of being ready, look-“ Dean cut himself off with a hum and a dark chuckle. “I can’t.”

“And neither can I,” Castiel replied with a shrug of his shoulder and turned to leave, feet shuffling slow—thinking Dean would try and stop him again—but Castiel walked out of the room with nothing but silence in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
> 
> [Visit me on Tumblr](https://deanwinchesterfirstofhisname.tumblr.com)   
> 


	11. The problem with small towns...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The more Castiel tries to avoid Dean, the more the universe seems to throw them together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: domestic abuse

Castiel actively avoided Dean for the next two weeks, which obviously led to them ending up in the same place at the same time more often than Castiel could count. Dean was his regular, friendly, overly touchy self, always delighted to run into Castiel despite the tension between them. Dean had crashed another late night meal at the diner, pestering Castiel just enough to stay on the endearing side of annoying, and by the end of it Castiel barely flinched when Dean reached to shake his hand as they said good night.

The diner had been only the beginning, though. The following Monday, Castiel was putting yet more gas in the Monte when the unmistakable sound of a big block engine turned nearly everyone’s head. He watched as Dean slid the Impala up to the opposite side of his pump and killed the engine, cutting off Mick Jagger lamenting about no satisfaction.

Castiel kept his eyes on the ascending numbers of the pump, listening to the creak of the Impala’s driver’s side door opening before jumping at the sound of it slamming. Maybe Dean wouldn’t notice-

“Hey, Cas!”  _ Shit _ .

Castiel leaned around the pump, finding Dean grinning at him as he pulled off his aviators. Castiel gave him a feeble smile. “Hello Dean.”

“Fancy seeing you here.”

“It was inevitable, I guess,” Castiel muttered as Dean pulled cash out of his wallet, looking at Castiel as he held it in the air over his head in clear view of the cashier inside.

“Why’s that?” Dean asked, shoving the cash in his front pocket before grabbing the handle and walking around the back of the Impala, pulling up the plate to get at the gas cap.

“It’s the only gas station for 20 miles and we both drive gas-guzzling behemoths. I’m honestly surprised it hasn’t happened sooner.”

“Don’t talk about Baby like that,” Dean snapped but grinned to soothe the sting as he slotted the nozzle in and the pump turned on. Dean gave a thumbs up at the attendant. “You know the Bears are playing the Packers this week. Should be a good game.” Castiel blinked at him and Dean sighed. “Football, dude.“

Castiel hummed and nodded. Dean shifted on his feet.

“Sam’s gonna be in town—my brother, Sam.”

“I remember Sam.” Castiel gave a deep nod and Dean narrowed his eyes a bit before his face cleared.

“Was thinkin’ about having some people over.” Dean reached up to wipe at the back of his neck. “You know, if you want to come.”

Castiel eyed him. “Thanks, but I don’t watch football.”

“Well, it’s more about the company than the- you know what?” Dean cut himself off and raised his chin, spreading his hands as if to wash away his previous comment. “I’m just saying you’re welcome to come. Game starts at one. BYOB.”

Castiel shifted on his feet. ”I’ll think about it.”

“Awesome.” The pump clicked off and Dean went to replace it on the hook before he pulled a small steno pad from his back pocket. Dean rounded the pump, flicking past used pages with his thumb as his other hand dug deep into his front pocket for a pen. He scribbled, then tore the paper off, holding it out to Castiel between two fingers. “The address. Drop by any time.”

Castiel took the paper, blinded momentarily by the not-so-subtle wink and Dean’s brilliant smile, then the feel of Dean’s hand on his shoulder while his other hand patted Castiel’s chest in a friendly, familiar gesture. Castiel looked down at the paper, blinking at Dean’s untidy scrawl, and could only gape after him as he strutted, bow-legged, over to the station to pay for his gas.

A few days later, when Castiel was doing the weekly grocery shopping, he’d quite literally run into Dean in the cereal aisle. The crashing of their carts as they both tried to turn in at the same time startled them and nearly everyone around them. Castiel was about to apologize when he looked up into Dean’s exasperated face. The look smoothed instantly into pleasant surprise when he registered that it was Castiel. His face then turned stern.

“Look man, if you’re not going to respect the right of way I dunno if I can, in good conscience, turn over the Buick to you.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and then stepped back, holding a hand out to allow Dean to pass. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean grinned at him and Castiel took the opportunity to appreciate the breadth of the younger man’s shoulders that dipped down into his slim waist. Then scolded himself for doing so. They both stopped in the middle of the aisle, surveying the boxes in front of them. Castiel immediately grabbed for the Raisin Bran.

“Please tell me that’s for your dad.”

Castiel dropped it in his cart. “Fiber intake is important, Dean.”

Dean looked at him and Castiel looked back. Dean cracked a smile. He reached forward and grabbed a box of Lucky Charms. “Live a little.” Dean tossed the box into Castiel’s cart.

Castiel looked at it, then grabbed another box of Raisin Bran. “Give your digestive system a break,” Castiel replied and tossed the box into Dean’s cart. Dean merely rolled his eyes, but Castiel caught his smile before the other man turned away.

“You gonna be at Harvelle’s tonight?” Dean asked over his shoulder as they exited to the main aisle. “Dollar draft night. Always a good time.”

Castiel felt the flash of a blush color his cheeks. “I’m on till midnight.”

Dean shrugged. “I’ll be there.” His tongue peeked out between his lips as he purposefully swung his cart to clash loudly with Castiel’s and then laughed at Castiel’s cringe. “See ya later.”

The next day a series of thunderstorms threatened to wash the town away, and of course the Monte’s windshield wipers didn’t work. Castiel rolled up to Singer’s Auto, getting drenched on his run to the office. The thunderclap and the slam of the door behind him made him jump, squinting in the sharp light of the main office. He leaned against the counter, watching the commotion of the garage as he waited. A tall, thin man with a hang-dog face leaned against the fender of an old sedan, talking to the mechanic underneath, and when he locked eyes with Castiel, he gave the mechanic a swift kick in the ribs.

“Ow! Son of a bitch! What the fuck?”

Dean Winchester’s voice echoed from under the car as his legs scrambled to pull himself out. He hit the other mechanic in the shin with a wrench, causing the tall man to howl and point at Castiel. Dean’s extreme frown smoothed before he looked back up with pursed lips, clearly annoyed. The other mechanic held out a hand, which Dean begrudgingly took to pull himself up and grabbed for a rag as he sauntered over, rubbing at his side with a wince. Castiel had thought it was the lighting, a shadow cast on Dean’s face, but as he got closer Castiel could see a large bruise blackening the right side of Dean’s face, the white of his right eye tinged red with broken capillaries.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean wiped his hands thoroughly before reaching out. Castiel shook his hand, finding the interaction oddly formal. Castiel turned it in his, looking down at Dean’s knuckles, but there were no defensive wounds.

“What happened to your face?”

Dean blinked at him and then looked down. “Oh, this?” He gestured to his face. “Misunderstanding. Something wrong with the Monte?”

“Did you have it looked at?” Castiel questioned, canting his head to the side to look critically at Dean’s eye.

“‘m fine.” Dean waved a hand, but Castiel was already fishing in the breast pocket of his scrubs for his pen light.

“Follow my finger.”

“No.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest and Castiel gave him an exasperated look before he clicked on the pen light and held up his index finger. Dean rolled his eyes and followed it. “See. Fine. Now what can I do for-”

“ _ Dean! _ ” The shout echoed through the garage and Dean flinched hard, one arm coming up almost in defense, as he turned to find his father barreling towards him.

“I... I’m with a customer, can it-”

“Bobby said you ordered 500 air filters when he told you 50!”

“What? No, I didn’t,” Dean snorted, face scrunching up in indignation, but it smoothed as John Winchester’s face turned red. “Uh…”

“Ordered by Winchester.” John slapped the invoice against Dean’s chest hard enough to make a lesser man wince, but Dean merely brought a hand up to take the paper from his father. “You sayin’ I did it?”

“Of course not, sir.” Dean muttered, his eyes cast down.

John’s angry eyes fell on Castiel, who squared his shoulders, staring coldly at the older man. “Stop yammering with your buddy and get back to fucking work before I black the other eye.”

John whacked Dean hard upside the head before he stomped off and Castiel could only watch him go, open-mouthed, as Dean stood frozen in his flinch, eyes closed, breathing slowly in his nose and out his mouth.

Castiel reached for the other man’s bicep. “Dean-“

Dean jerked back, knocking the phone off the hook and scrambled to replace it. “Uh… s-s-sorry about that.” He cleared his throat and gave his head a sharp shake before plastering a brilliant smile on his face. Castiel’s brows knitted in concern, and Dean looked away. “What can I do for you?”

Dean fixed the windshield wipers and then the broken tail light a few days later. Then it was Sunday and Castiel found himself, exhausted and bleary-eyed, escorting Howard to the Holy Deliverance Church of Lebanon extra-early for Sunday school. Castiel planned on getting some sleep in the car until the service was over but a sharp knock on the window of the Monte startled him awake. He flailed, looking around the now-nearly-full lot and sat bolt upright when he looked up and saw Dean’s grinning face at his window. Castiel rubbed a hand over his mouth, wiping drool away, as Dean opened the car door and leaned on the frame.

“I don’t think God gives credit for coming if you’re asleep in the parking lot.”

Castiel squinted up at him, the watery morning sun framing Dean’s head in a halo, his smile all the more stunning because of it. “I dropped Howard off for Sunday school.” Castiel covered his mouth to smother a yawn. “His caregiver is out of town this weekend.”

“Dean, we’re gonna be late.”

That was when Castiel noticed Sam Winchester, Bible in hand, wearing a pink-striped button down and khakis, oxfords on his feet. His hair, though still touching his collar, was smoothed back neatly. He really was offensively tall and handsome in a boyish way Castiel found endearing. Dean looked up at his brother with pursed lips.

“Yes, Samantha, we’re coming. Why don’t you go get us a seat.”

They watched Sam huff and stride off towards the entrance to the sanctuary where several congregants still milled around outside. Castiel’s eyes shifted to Dean who smiled softly, watching his brother with obvious affection. He looked sharp in a black blazer over a patterned button down and dark jeans, a large silver buckle on his black belt.

“Poor kid’s gonna get the crap kicked outta him in that shirt,” Dean said finally, turning to look at Castiel. “Come on.” Dean held the door open further and Castiel shook his head.

“No, I’m running on like three hours of sleep and I have to be at work again in four hours. I’ll just wait for Howard in the-”

Castiel’s words cut off as Dean rested his forearm on the roof, leaning down to become eye level with Castiel. “Look, in Lebanon, if you’re not in the hospital or dead, your butt is in the pew Sunday mornings. I don’t like it either.” He straightened, digging a hand in his pocket. “I’m missing pregame and I forgot to swap out my fantasy players last night.” He sighed and that’s when Castiel noticed the ancient Bible in his other hand,  _ Mary Campbell _ stamped in gold on the cover. Dean slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Come on.”

Castiel pulled himself to his feet reluctantly, suddenly aware he had only brushed his teeth and pulled on a pair of jeans before leaving the house. He was supposed to be sleeping in the car, dammit. Castiel reached up to try and smooth his hair. Dean sighed and shucked out of his blazer.

“No, no.” Dean said when Castiel tried to protest. “Not gonna have you competing with Sam for worst dressed.” Dean held it open and shook it a bit to get Castiel to comply.

Castiel turned slowly, allowing Dean to guide his arms through the sleeves of the jacket, fixing the collar at the back of his neck. Castiel shivered at the scent of aftershave and body wash enveloping him. Dean clapped him on the shoulder and Castiel turned back to face him, Dean reaching to pull on his lapels, inspecting his chest in a way that made Castiel both bashful and a little warm.

“There.” Dean gave a small nod, reaching up to pinch at the corner of Castiel’s chin as if pulling a stray hair out of his stubble. It was an affectionate gesture that Castiel felt in the pit of his stomach. Dean’s eyes were intense on his before he looked away and rubbed the back of his neck. “Now you’re presentable, let’s go.”

Dean gestured with the Bible, striding towards the church, and Castiel had no choice but to follow. “Are those flowers?” Castiel asked as he caught up and Dean looked over at him with raised eyebrows. “On your shirt?”

Dean looked down at himself. “Yeah.”

“And… Sam’s the one that’s going to get beat up?”

Dean cut his eyes at him. “Shuddap, my girlfriend got it for me.” He smoothed a hand down his front, disgruntled, and Castiel nearly stumbled in shock.

“O-o-oh. I didn’t… I mean you never…” Dean stepped in front of him to grab the door, opening it for him. “I didn’t know you have a girlfriend.”

“Had.” Dean gave him a sly grin. “They can’t keep me on a leash for long. I’m untrainable.”

Dean winked and nodded for Castiel to proceed inside. Dean followed him into the empty vestibule and Castiel halted at the entrance to the sanctuary, swallowing hard. When was the last time he’d been in a church? Dean nudged him and his feet unstuck from the floor, shuffling down the aisle. Everyone was chatting, the piano playing a jaunty hymn in the background and Castiel searched for Howard’s bald spot. He found it in the front row and cringed.

“Hey…” Castiel shivered, breath on the back of his neck as Dean’s fingers brushed his forearm. “You wanna sit with us?”

Castiel turned and saw Dean gesture to Sam, sitting at the end of an aisle in the middle of the room. Castiel nodded vigorously and Dean chuckled, sucking in his bottom lip to keep from grinning. Castiel gave him a withering look.

“Move over, Sammy.” Dean groused, making his brother scoot so he could shuffle in and the entire row squeezed to allow Castiel in, as well.

They were shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, ankle to ankle. So close Castiel could feel Dean’s every breath, but the closeness wasn’t nearly as suffocating as the room he was in. He’d spent his childhood in sanctuaries just like this. Same oak pews with the same padded seats, though the color varied. Same hymnals, same Bibles, same call to prayer. Castiel stood with Dean and the rest of the congregation as the service began. Castiel watched Sam reach for a hymnal, Dean snatching it up before Sam could get his hand around it. Sam’s martyred sigh harmonized with Dean’s snicker. The song began, Dean squinting at the page number on the board near the choir, and Castiel surprised Dean by flicking to the exact page, knowing the song by the first few notes.

Dean gave him an impressed purse of his lips and Castiel returned a sardonic smirk. It seemed some information was buried too deep to truly lose. Castiel caught sight of Sam with his own hymnal now, eyes on the page, mouthing the words as the verse kicked in. Castiel half-expected Dean to do the same, but he merely took a moment to clear his throat before he began to sing. Castiel couldn’t help but stare, managing to snap his mouth shut as the smooth, gentle baritone of Dean’s voice surrounded him. Castiel didn’t even bother to mouth the words, but Dean ignoring the attention, eyes intent on the hymnal. Sam’s head turned as the final chorus started, still mouthing the words as he met Castiel’s eyes, and gave him a bashful grin before cocking his head at Dean and rolling his eyes as if saying,  _ It’s so unfair, right? _ Castiel fought a chuckle and had to agree.

Castiel fought sleep through a sermon on Jesus and his “temple tantrum,” as the pastor called it, receiving a chuckle from the congregation. When they were asked to find the scripture Castiel was jostled out of a near doze, attention following the movement of Dean’s hands, surprised that the margins of his bible were covered in notes, scribbles in all different colors, some in what Castiel had come to know as Dean’s neat copperplate and others in a looping, feminine cursive Castiel didn’t recognize.

It amused Castiel to watch the brothers each reach into their breast pocket, pull out a pen, and click it, then move to write, pause to shake the pen, and then go to write again, all in perfect synchronization. When the pastor jumped to a different chapter and verse, Dean fumbled with his pen but Castiel reached over and found Psalms immediately, flicking until he got to the correct verse. Dean gave him a small smile before hunching over and scribbling whatever wisdom the preacher was imparting.

When it was finally over, Castiel found himself standing next to Sam in the vestibule, parishioners milling around them. Dean was charming a group of girls and Howard was deep in conversation with the pastor. Castiel checked his watch.

“How’s your dad doing?”

Castiel looked up at Sam, startled, and blinked before rolling a shoulder, eyes falling back on Howard again. “As well as can be expected. His mobility isn’t great, but they added an inhaler to his regimen that seems to help him with getting winded so easily.”

Sam shook his head. “That’s tough, man. Sorry you’re going through that.” Castiel gave a tight-lipped smile but didn’t meet Sam’s eyes. “Hey, so my brother told me how you saved his life.” Castiel felt Sam’s large hand land on his shoulder and turned to look at him, finding his hand stretched out. Castiel took it. “Thank you for that. He gets on my nerves but he’s still my big brother, ya know?” Sam gave Castiel’s hand a squeeze.

“I…” Castiel paused, and gave a huff of a laugh before a small smile pulled at his lips. “I understand completely.”

Sam smiled. “You have a big brother, too.” It wasn’t a question.

“Oh, I have four.”

Sam laughed. “You’re the baby?” Castiel nodded. Sam looked over the thinning crowd and Castiel followed his gaze to Dean. “You should come over after this. We’re gonna watch the game and grill out before Dean takes me to the airport.”

“I’ve got to be at work at 2,” Castiel sighed, standing on his tip-toes to locate his father again. Howard was now sitting on a bench, unengaged for the first time since they arrived. “We should get going. Nice seeing you again, Sam.”

Castiel didn’t have to maneuver too much to get to the old man, and they were able to escape the vestibule with no interruptions. It was a slow walk to the car, Castiel’s hand hovering at Howard’s back.

“Thought you were gonna wait in the car.”

Castiel snorted. “Yeah, well…”

“You sat with the Winchester boys.” It wasn’t a question. Castiel hummed, forcing himself not to push Howard to move faster. “They’re trouble.” Howard sniffed and Castiel rolled his eyes.

“Sam is in law school at  _ Stanford _ and Dean works a full-time job and helps old ladies to their car with their groceries. What could possibly-”

Howard raised a gnarled finger.  _ “So Jesus answered them, ‘I tell you the solemn truth, the Son can do nothing on his own initiative, but only what he sees the Father doing. For whatever the Father does, the Son does likewise.’  _ John 5:20”

Castiel chuckled darkly as they finally approached the car. Castiel opened the door for his father, brain whirring. “ _ The one who sins is the one who will die. _ ” Howard glared at Castiel as he took Howard’s cane and offered his hands. “ _ The child will not share the guilt of the parent, nor will the parent share the guilt of the child. _ ” Castiel supported Howard’s weight as they worked together to lower him into the front seat of the Monte. “ _ The righteousness of the righteous will be credited to them, and the wickedness of the wicked will be charged against them. _ ” Castiel held out the old man’s cane. “Ezekiel 18:20.”

Howard snatched it from him. “Well, despite your insolence, I’m pleased your mother raised you on The Word.”

Castiel couldn’t help but grin. “Actually, I made it a point to learn all the biblical counter-arguments when I was a teenager for just such occasions. I’ve been an atheist since I was ten.” Castiel closed the old man inside but didn’t miss his quack of indignant surprise.

Castiel rounded the front of the Monte with a little more pep in his step but once behind the wheel, he deflated when the key turned in the ignition with nary a click. Castiel heaved a sigh, resting his forehead on his hands, still holding onto the steering wheel. He heard Howard’s snort of laughter and looked up to glare at the older man.

“If you can remember all that, surely you remember what I taught you about pride, Castiel. Back before you lost your way.”

Castiel opened his mouth to snap but jumped as someone outside yelled, “Oh,  _ come on!” _

Dean and Sam were walking across the lot, Dean’s face twisted in annoyance and Castiel sucked in a deep breath before pulling himself out.

“I’m afraid so,” Castiel said as Dean stomped up.

“What are you  _ doing _ to this thing, man? Pop the hood.” Dean gestured to the front seat and Castiel did as he was told.

“I’m not doing anything but attempting to drive it.”

Dean started poking at things, grumbling, before heaving a sigh and started to unbutton his shirt. Castiel’s head whipped around; the lot was nearly empty but there were still some stragglers around. “What are you doing?”

Dean looked at him. “This is a nice shirt and I gotta crawl underneath this thing.” He shucked out of it, revealing a white tank top underneath. Sam took his shirt with a sigh, watching his brother crouch down to sit on the gravel and shimmy himself underneath the car.

“Dean, I know this is just a loaner, but did you have to give poor Cas here such a piece of junk?” The back of Sam’s hand hit Castiel’s bicep and Castiel looked up to see him grinning.

“Hey! This is a fine automobile, Samuel. It’s just… AGH sonnovah… you mother… It’s just got some kinks that need… CAS! Turn her over, will you?”

Castiel stepped over Dean’s legs and leaned into the car to crank the engine.

“Did he just call you  _ Cas _ ?” Howard’s face was scrunched in distaste, and Castiel fought the roll of his eyes, leaning out the door.

“Nothing, Dean.” Dean’s legs wiggled, feet searching for traction as he did something else under the car.

“You never let anyone call you Cassie before.”

Castiel’s head whipped to Howard. “He doesn’t call me  _ Cassie _ . He calls me  _ Cas _ .”

Howard snorted. “There’s a difference?”

Castiel grit his teeth. “Yeah, Dad. There is.”

“Okay, try it again.”

Castiel did, but there was only a click.

“Dean, you want me to call Bobby and have him bring the wrecker?” Sam’s voice was absolutely giddy, nudging his brother’s boot with the toe of his shoe. Dean kicked out blindly and Sam laughed.

“Shuddap, Sammy. Okay Cas, try again.”

The engine roared to life. Castiel and Sam gave a small cheer as Dean wriggled out from under the car. Sam looked like he was about to make another joke, but seeing the look on Dean’s face he opted against it. Castiel gave Dean a sheepish smile, handing over a stack of napkins so he could wipe his greasy hands, and Dean’s face softened a bit.

“Sam.” Dean finished cleaning one hand and immediately dug into his trouser pocket, producing his keys. “Can you take Mr. Novak home? I’m going to rewire this idiot thing today. I’m sick and tired of its shit.”

“Wait… Dean…” Castiel said as Sam nodded and Dean tossed him the keys to the Impala.

“Hey!” Dean said sharply as Sam rounded the hood of the Monte, and Sam stopped dead in his tracks. “Anything happens to her, I swear to…” Dean trailed, lifting his hand in a threatening gesture. Sam merely rolled his eyes.

“Dean, I’m on shift at two.” Castiel watched as Sam coaxed his father out of the front seat, his smile bright, and Castiel thought he may have seen Howard’s grumpy facade crack.

“I’ll give you a ride.” Dean walked off to throw the napkins into the trashcan and Castiel watched his retreating form, the breadth of his shoulders v-ing down into his slim waist tugging at Castiel’s groin.

“I won’t get off until 2 am.”

Dean turned to walk back, his face determined. “I know. Twelve hour shifts. You told me.” Dean gave a hard shiver and Castiel immediately shrugged out of the blazer, rounding the hood to hand it back to Dean. “Thanks.” Dean pointed at the passenger side. “Get in.”

“Dean, seriously. It’s running now-”

“And when you turn it off, it’s not guaranteed to start again. The wiring is shot. I’ll take you to work and I’ll pick you up.” Dean was about to fold himself into the driver’s seat when he stopped and banged a hand on the roof of the car. “Hey! You get to watch some of the game with us, after all!”

Castiel rolled his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
> 
> [Visit me on Tumblr](https://deanwinchesterfirstofhisname.tumblr.com)   
> 


	12. Cold Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel has a rough shift. Dean tries to make it better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: mild homophobia, canon-level gore, mentioned suicide, mentioned death of a child, internalized homophobia

Fourteen hours later, Castiel stepped out into the ambulance bay on legs that didn’t feel like his own. Autumn had turned into bitter winter overnight, and Castiel had left his trench coat inside; his thin sweater did little to protect him from the prairie wind. Lights flashed to his left, and he lifted a hand, squinting to see the Impala backed into a corner near a dumpster. Dean was behind the wheel, uncurling his fingers from around it in a caricature of a wave.

Castiel took a deep breath and shuffled over, ears still ringing from the echo of machines beeping and Meg shouting that the patient was going into v-fib. Dean leaned over the bench seat to push the passenger side door open and Castiel caught it, sliding in with more grace than should have been possible when his body felt like it was made of lead.

“Rough shift?”

Dean’s voice made his back go rigid, and he shifted in his seat. He heard the squeak of leather and felt Dean lean over to try to catch his eyes. Castiel leaned farther away, eyes going out the window.

“Yes. Rough shift.”

Castiel’s eyes flicked to Dean’s and saw the look of concern on his face before it melted to something more neutral. Then Dean sat back, reaching for the gear shift. “Alright, let’s go.”

Dean pushed in a cassette as they pulled out of the ambulance bay, a smooth saxophone riff slicing through the silence, and Castiel was distracted enough to wonder if Dean had cued this song up on purpose. The drive was silent, Castiel’s eyes fixed on the white line that separated the shoulder from the highway. Castiel was abruptly pulled out of his trance when they pulled off onto a gravel road and he blinked, looking around.

“Where are we?” Castiel craned his neck. “How long have we been driving?”

Dean glanced over at him. “There’s a good place up here to just… hang out.” Castiel’s eyes narrowed and Dean sighed as he idled off the gravel and onto a dirt road that would have been impossible to find if you didn’t know where it was.. “I mean, like, to get your head on straight, man.” Dean shook his head.

The Impala broke through a small copse of trees and Castiel was momentarily stunned by the expanse of grassy meadow that sloped into gentle rolling hills in the distance. The full moon made everything a silhouette, just enough light to render everything as nothing but dark edges and shades of gray, dotted with lights from faraway homes. Dean killed the engine, and they sat listening to the pings as she cooled down in the silent night.

“You want a beer?” Dean asked, turning his head to look at Castiel, his wrist still flung over the steering wheel, and Castiel allowed himself to admire the cut of Dean’s jaw, the slope of his cheekbone, before he looked down at his hands.

“Yes. Please.”

“Something stronger?” Dean squinted and Castiel glanced at him before glancing back down again. His nod was nearly imperceptible, but Dean caught it, his hand flying out to pat Castiel’s arm before he wrenched the door open and rounded the car to open the trunk.

Castiel managed to pull himself out, marveling at how each breath felt like a challenge, and focused all his energy on keeping that pale face from floating to the forefront of his mind again. The trunk slammed, making Castiel jump, and Dean moved back to the front of the car, setting a cooler below the bumper and shaking out an old army blanket, letting it flutter to rest on the hood. Dean caught Castiel’s eye.

“It’s so the rivets on our jeans don’t scratch the paint.” Dean sighed as he tossed a black hoodie on the blanket and began to shuck his leather jacket off. “I’m an asshole but I’m not an  _ asshole _ .” Dean held the coat out to Castiel.

“I’m fine.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Your teeth are chattering. You can have the hoodie instead, if you want. It’s Sam’s, so there’s a good chance it hasn’t been washed in several months.” Dean shook the jacket at Castiel again and Castiel snatched it, reluctantly threading his arms through.

Dean wrestled the old hoodie over his head and it looked like it was about a size too big; he had to push the sleeves up, a bit, to uncover his hands. He hooked a boot onto the bumper and hoisted himself up, the front end sinking under his weight. Dean waved his arm, inviting Castiel up as he leaned over to flip the lid up on the cooler.

“Whiskey’s in the chest pocket,” Dean said as Castiel stepped over. He took the beer Dean offered while feeling around inside the jacket, before producing a beaten-up, silver flask.

Dean reached over to uncap Castiel’s beer with the opener on his keychain before popping his own. He pocketed his keys and reached to unscrew the cap to the flask. Castiel offered it to him.

“You first,” Dean said with a wave of his hand, bringing the beer bottle to his lips and looking out over the prairie.

Castiel was distracted by the long column of Dean’s neck and the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

His mind flashed back, as if the trauma was just waiting for him to lose focus.  _ So much blood. _

Castiel blinked hard, shaking his head before he tipped the flask back. The liquid scorched his throat, but he took two swallows, all the same. As he brought his head back down, air blew past his lips in a white cloud, but he still coughed from the burn. He didn’t even jump when he felt Dean’s hand thump his back—twice—before it rested on his shoulder blade for a moment, fingertips pressing in before reaching for the flask.

Dean took a drink before capping the flask and laying it on the blanket between them, well within Castiel’s reach. Castiel watched Dean’s breath huff past his full lips as he laid back, hands folding behind his head to look up at the stars. Castiel looked up, too, and was instantly struck dumb, lips parting at the grandeur of a velvety, blue sky dotted with thousands upon thousands of pinpricks of light. Had he ever seen a sky so clear?

“Sam and I used to come out here when we were kids. Rode our bikes before I could drive.” Dean lifted onto one elbow and took a drink, his eyes shifting from the sky to Castiel, taking in the look of wonder on the other man’s face. “You good?”

Castiel seemed to reanimate then, bringing his beer to his lips mechanically and sucking down a huge gulp before he looked down at his feet and nodded. Dean set his beer down and folded his hands at his chest, one ankle crossing over the other as he regarded Castiel critically.

“Are you always this bad at lying?” Castiel’s head snapped up, and he glared hotly at Dean, who had the audacity to laugh at him. “Oh, man, that bitch face rivals Sam’s.” Dean let out another spastic chuckle before he laid back again. “He was a shitty liar as a kid.”

“Until you taught him?” The words passed Castiel’s lips before he could stop them, and Dean lifted his head to regard the other man curiously. Then he pursed his lips and gave a shrug, turning his eyes back to the sky.

“Maybe. I’m not that great a liar, either, to be honest.” He brought a hand up to scratch at the scruff of his his jaw.

“Only to yourself?” Dean’s hand stopped mid-scratch, seeming to freeze at the accusation. Castiel brought a hand up to rub his forehead. “I’m sorry. That was-”

“No, it’s alright,” Dean said lightly, waving a hand at him. “I can be your punching bag. Let it all out, buddy.”

Castiel blinked at him. “You can be… my… what?” Dean was already pulling himself up and slipping off the hood.

“Let’s go,” Dean started bouncing on his feet, bringing his hands up. “I’ll even let you have the first shot.” He wiggled his fingers in a come-hither motion. “Come on.”

An astonished laugh burst from Castiel’s lips. “You… you can’t be serious. I’m not going to  _ hit _ you.”

“It’ll feel really goooood,” Dean sing-songed, veering into Castiel’s space and landing a light punch to his arm. It wasn’t meant to hurt but Castiel frowned and rubbed it, anyway. “Come on, I always like to beat the crap out of something when I feel like shit.”

“And you don’t find anything… wrong with that?” Dean gave an unaffected shrug. Castiel sighed. “No. Thank you for the offer, but…” Castiel shook his head and laughed again. “No.”

Dean finally stopped bouncing, reached over and nudged Castiel’s bicep. “Made ya laugh though, didn’t it?”

Castiel looked up as Dean leaned back, and the self-satisfied smile on his face as he brought his beer to his lips made Castiel’s throat go dry. He took the step forward without thinking, beer bottle falling to the grass as he brought his hands up to cup Dean’s face in both hands, and crushed their lips together.

Dean hummed in surprise, his arms opening and Castiel felt him press the neck of the beer bottle to his bicep and push, neck craning back to break the kiss. “Dude… no.”

Castiel’s face turned beet red. Snatching his hands back, he turned away and ran both hands through his hair, sending it into wild disarray. He pressed two fingers between his eyebrows, wishing he could melt right into the ground. He heard the crunch of dry grass under boots before he felt the soft weight of Dean’s hand on his shoulder.

“You can still hit me, if you want.”

Castiel let his head fall back, letting out another laugh, and before he knew it he was laughing so hard he couldn’t catch his breath. He was laughing so hard Dean turned him towards him with a look of concern that he didn’t try to hide, this time. Castiel was laughing so hard tears were streaming down his face, and it was at that moment he realized he wasn’t laughing anymore.

“Shit, man,” Dean muttered before pulling him in roughly, bundling Castiel into a bear hug that nearly crushed all the oxygen out of his chest.

Castiel’s arms went under Dean’s, weakly, balled fists resting against Dean’s shoulder blades as Castiel’s forehead fell to Dean’s shoulder. The tears were coming hot and fast as Castiel’s chest constricted in wracking sobs. Dean held them both steady, Castiel feeling the steady push and pull of Dean’s chest against his own, the scratch of stubble against his neck, and Dean’s warm breath ghosting down the collar of his jacket. Dean heaved a sigh that Castiel felt all the way down his spine, and he shivered.

“Sam is better at this shit,” Dean muttered and Castiel could hear the frown in Dean’s voice as a large hand came up to cup the back of Castiel’s neck, fingers warm despite the winter chill. “What…” Castiel heard the uncomfortable scoff in Dean’s throat but only because his ear was pressed against the other man’s neck. “What happened?”

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut, images running through his mind like slides, like his brain was trying to short circuit and rewire itself in some amnesiac act of self-preservation. A gurney coming in through the ambulance bay, the body on it impossibly small. A voice shouting vitals over another screaming through sobs. Nothing but red, red, red, smeared across a gray hoodie and blue jeans, a white sock soaked and one shoe missing. An ashen white face, eyes blank and staring.

“This kid.” Castiel grit his teeth against the watery sound of his voice, hoarse and high,like when he hit puberty and had no control over his tone.

Dean huffed a sigh, his head falling so that his cheek rested against Castiel’s ear. “Shit, a kid?”

Castiel nodded against Dean’s neck, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to quash a new wave of tears. “I tried. I didn’t know. I would have done something.” Castiel gulped, and he felt Dean’s body stiffen as he pulled back to try to catch Castiel’s gaze. His hands moved to Castiel’s biceps, but after a split second of hesitation, Dean reached to cup Castiel’s face, instead.

“You did everything you could, Cas.” Dean’s voice was a soft rumble, green eyes searching Castiel’s earnestly. Castiel just squeezed his eyes shut again, trying to shake his head, but Dean’s grip on his face tightened. “You can’t save everyone, man.”

“I  _ could _ have!” Castiel exclaimed, eyes wide. He sniffled, looking down as he searched his coat pockets. Eventually, he remembered he wasn’t wearing his own coat and reached into the pocket of his jeans.

Pulling out his phone with shaking hands, Castiel fumbled with the code a few times before it opened and he pulled up his messages. “Look!”

Dean’s hands finally left Castiel’s face to cup around his hands as they gripped the phone, holding it steady and squinting while he tried to get his eyes to adjust to the artificial light. Castiel watched Dean’s face—brows deeply drawn, full lips moving as he read silently—waiting for the look of accusation, of indignation or rage. What Castiel got, instead, was a slack-jawed look of shock.

“You were texting with…?” Dean’s voice faded as the shock turned to horror, one hand coming up to cover his mouth. “The kid you were telling me about.”

“He killed himself. It was too hard.” Castiel reached up to wipe angrily at his face before jabbing his finger against the phone screen. “You saw what he said. He’d rather be dead than not be out and proud, and he couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Jesus.” Dean brought his hands up to rub hard at his own face before he took a deep breath and shook it off, literally shook out his arms and squared his shoulders, his face settling into a look of calm determination. “You couldn’t do anything, Cas.”

“If I had seen it-”

Dean snatched the phone from Castiel’s hand and tossed it to the side. Castiel watched it skid across the grass, mouth opening in protest, but it snapped shut when Dean brought his hands up to cup his face again. Green eyes locked on blue and Castiel felt something warm in his chest. It didn’t quite replace the hurt, but it made it more bearable.

“Listen to me, Cas… hey,” Dean’s thumb rubbed against his cheek bone when Castiel tried to look away. “Castiel, look at me.” Castiel blew a shaky breath past pursed lips and reluctantly met Dean’s eyes again. “You did everything you could.” Dean gave a perfunctory nod. “You were there for that kid when probably no one else was. Or ever had been. Some wounds are just too deep, man.” Dean tugged, shaking Castiel a little, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“He was twelve years old,” Castiel whispered, his voice broken as he let his forehead fall against Dean’s. One of Dean’s hands moved to grip the back of his neck, squeezing and then rubbing at the tense muscles there.

“I know.”

“He put a fucking gun in his mouth and-”

Castiel began to crumple again. Dean let out a strangled groan of either pity or distress as he pulled Castiel in again. This time Castiel’s arms wrapped so tightly around Dean’s ribs his arms were nearly doubled around him, crushing their bodies together in a way that was suffocating but felt safe. Dean’s hand moved up tentatively, one threading back into Castiel’s hair as the other rubbed soothingly up and down Castiel’s back until Castiel was able to pull himself back together.

Castiel lifted his head from Dean’s shoulder with a pitiful sniff, wrung out and hollow enough to finally start to feel embarrassed. Dean’s hands were back to his face, smearing the wetness across Castiel’s cheeks before Castiel could get a hand up to wipe them away. Castiel’s eyes were locked on the drawstring cords at the base of Dean’s throat, hands coming up to wind them loosely around his fingers; anything to avoid looking Dean in the eye. The silence stretched and Castiel felt Dean shift from one foot to the other.

“Shit is fucked up,” Dean muttered and Castiel looked up, a startled laugh bubbling past his lips. Dean gave him a sheepish smile that turned into a genuine grin when Castiel smiled back.

Before Castiel could think to stop himself, he’d leaned in and pressed his lips to Dean’s, softly, almost chaste. When he pulled back just enough to see Dean’s expression, he found his eyes still closed, lips still puckered. Green eyes opened and Castiel felt his chest explode, the tip of Dean’s tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

They came together, both closing the tiny distance, lips pressing firm and slow, over and over. There was no build, no urgency to move on, just one kiss blending into the next, arms wrapped around each other or hands threaded back into hair. The brush of calloused fingers on Castiel’s cheekbone made him press harder against Dean. Castiel’s soft palm rasping against Dean’s stubble made Dean’s lips part, allowing Castiel’s tongue to taste him thoroughly before retreating and letting Dean do the same.

At some point, they ended up back on the hood of the Impala, Dean laying back with one arm shoved behind his head, his other wrapped around Castiel’s shoulders. Castiel’s head rested against Dean’s chest while his hair tickled the underside of Dean’s jaw. Even with the blanket wrapped around them, it was still on the cold side of warm, but neither seemed to mind. All the more reason to stay pressed close together.

#

Time passed slowly in Lebanon and Castiel found himself learning a lot about cars. He’d spent the majority of the weekends before Thanksgiving bundled up in a jacket, watching Dean disassemble the Buick. They hadn’t spoken about the night in the field, though Dean did offer Castiel the flask when he’d shown up after the boy’s funeral still in his suit, black tie loosened at his throat. They were back behind the shop, the garage closed and quiet, both staring at the empty engine compartment, when Dean threw an arm around Castiel’s shoulders and pressed his lips firmly against Castiel’s temple. Before Castiel could even think to respond, Dean was gone, shaking a can of compressed air as he sauntered back over to the engine block.

It had been a month since that awful Sunday. They were still in this strange limbo—more than friends but less than lovers—suspended in the space between wanting each other and acting on it. Dean was still closeted, and unless that changed, Castiel knew this was all they could ever be. But Dean was so distractingly gorgeous that sometimes, when they were alone, he forgot. And when he forgot, Dean somehow managed to summon up the willpower to stop. In the moment, Castiel sometimes hated him for it, but most times he was grateful Dean kept him from making a mistake that would no doubt hurt both of them and snip the tightrope they were dancing on, leaving nothing but the void between them.

The bell on the door to the Sunnyside Diner was beginning to induce a strange Pavlovian response in Castiel. When he heard it, his heartbeat would pick up and he’d have to actively fight to keep a wide grin from pulling across his face. His effort was usually thwarted as soon as Dean plopped down on the stool next to him, an answering grin threatening to split his face.

A newspaper thwacked down, hard, on the counter next to Castiel, breaking his train of thought and he jumped, knocking his coffee cup clean off the edge. The loud clatter caused Eve and Garth to peer through the order window from the kitchen. Eve heaved a sigh, pursing her lips as she disappeared, then reappeared out the swinging door.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel stuttered, his eyes locked on Dean’s murderous gaze.

“Not your fault, hon.” Eve glared hotly at Dean until he looked over at her, and then her face smoothed as she averted her eyes. “I’ll get you more coffee. Dean, your usual?”

“Not hungry.” Dean used his boot to pull out the stool next to Castiel and plunked himself down on it, eyes back on Castiel.

Castiel’s eyes met Dean’s again. “No more coffee for me. Thanks, Eve.”

The girl eyed them uneasily before she retreated back into the kitchen, casting one last curious glance before she went.

“What the  _ fuck _ is this?” Dean whispered through gritted teeth, jabbing his finger down on the newspaper and Castiel glanced down at it.

“Looks like the Lebanon Ledger.”

“It  _ is _ the Lebanon Ledger. What the  _ fuck _ , Cas? An op-ed?”

“Do you disagree with me?” Castiel turned to look at him, his chin tipped up, and Dean turned his head away and swore.

“You wrote a fucking letter to the town newspaper that is distributed to every goddamn house and is for sale at every goddamn gas station for fifty miles-”

“Do you,” Castiel looked at him pointedly, “Disagree with me?”

Dean gritted his teeth. “No.”

“Do you think it’s right for children to be bullied about their sexuality?”

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. “No, look-“

“Do you think the proper way to react to someone who is different from you is to beat the crap out of them?

Dean rubbed his eye. “No, Cas, of course not-”

“Do you think that boy should have shut up and blended in? That if he’d done so, he wouldn’t be dead?”

Dean was silent, looking down at his hands, and Castiel felt a rush of anger so strong he almost sent his near empty plate flying to rest with his coffee mug. The silence stretched and Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He opened his mouth a few times but couldn’t seem to find the right words. Finally Dean folded his hands and hunched over, eyes on the counter, his voice quiet.

“Everyone knows now. That you’re…”

Castiel scoffed and shook his head. “You can’t even  _ say _ it.”

Dean turned his head and hissed, “ _ Gay _ . Yes, I can. I just know better than to say it too loud.  _ Jesus, Cas.” _ Dean’s hand slapped the counter before holding his head in his hand. “And I’ve been hanging out with you.”

Castiel’s hands hit the counter so hard the silverware rattled. He was on his feet and turning to storm out but Dean caught his arm and yanked, pulling him back down onto the stool then steadying him when he nearly fell off the back.

“You need to be careful-”

“Careful of what?” Castiel asked, his voice raising, but a sharp look from Dean quieted him.

“-because you could get the shit kicked out of you.”

“Is that what you’re afraid of?” Castiel laughed, looking over at Dean. “Bad-ass Dean Winchester is afraid of some bigoted rednecks with less sense than teeth? Which, frankly, is saying something.”

“No, Cas, of course not. Am I…” Dean licked his lips, eyes moving across the counter. “ _ concerned _ that the guys who bale hay 12 hours a day, seven days a week, all summer long, might be waiting for you one night when you get off shift at 2am? Yeah. I am. I’m also concerned they’re gonna show up with a gun and not just brass knuckles. I’m concerned…” Dean paused and Castiel looked over, watching Dean’s jaw tense. “Never mind.”

“I can take care of myself,” Castiel grumbled, planting his elbows on the counter and glaring at the stack of mugs behind the counter.

“I have no doubt,” Dean sighed, shoving the paper to the side, disgusted. “I cannot believe you fucking came out in the goddamn Ledger.” Dean shook his head.

Castiel glanced at him and stood from his seat. “I was already out, Dean. I just aired my grievances to a town that prefers a dead child over a gay one.” Castiel pulled some cash out of his pocket and dropped it on the counter, turning to leave.

Dean grabbed his wrist and Castiel turned to look down into Dean’s blank face, but Castiel could see the anxiety in his eyes. “Be careful. Please.” Dean swallowed hard, eyes moving to squint out the door. “For me, okay?”

Castiel pressed his lips together and gave a short nod. “Of course.” Castiel patted Dean’s shoulder harder than necessary before he walked out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
> 
> [Visit me on Tumblr](https://deanwinchesterfirstofhisname.tumblr.com)  
> 


	13. Gentlemen, Rev Your Engines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean invites Castiel to watch the engine go in the Buick. Castiel enjoys it a little more than he planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: homophobia with use of gay slurs. Graphic depiction of sex acts, oral sex, anal fingering, hand jobs, internalized homophobia

After three days of radio silence, Castiel got a text from Dean that he'd finished installing the radiator and starter on the Buick, Castiel not knowing how to reply, just gave the message a thumbs up and moved on. Two more days passed before Dean DMed him on Instagram asking if he wanted to come over to watch the engine go in. Castiel took that to mean he’d been forgiven.

Dean was waiting for him, leaning casually against the gate as the Monte trundled up to the back entrance of the salvage yard. Dean waved him on through, pulling the gate closed behind him and locking it before kicking Castiel out of the driver’s seat so he could maneuver the giant car between two stacks of junkers, completely hidden from the road or the front lot. Castiel gave him a withering look as he walked the short distance while Dean pulled himself out of the car. Dean avoided Castiel’s gaze, choosing instead to walk ahead, leading the way.

The last time Castiel saw the Buick, it was a mere husk of a car, everything removed down to the metal so Dean could check for whatever rust might be hiding. The level of organization and care with which Dean had cataloged and stored each piece that he removed was borderline obsessive, but Dean insisted that he wasn’t going to take any chances. Apparently having all the original parts was a very big deal. Now, it sat on jacks, a flat gray instead of its aged white.

“Just finished putting the seats back in before you got here. Nice, huh?”

Castiel fixed his gaze on the black vinyl and counted to ten in his head before saying, “Yeah, they look great.”

Dean grinned, clapping him on the shoulder and Castiel fought a smile; he’d  _ finally _ gotten that part right, instead of Dean complaining that he hadn’t even looked. Dean pulled out a stool for Castiel, wiping it off with a rag before he grabbed for the flask on the workbench.

“Little something to warm you up?”

Dean wiggled it at him and Castiel grabbed it, taking a drink, his eyes never leaving Dean’s face. The whiskey burned all the way down his throat, and Dean’s lips parted as his eyes fell to watch Castiel’s Adam’s apple bob.

“So, we’re friends again?” Castiel ventured, holding the flask out to Dean, who took a beat to respond. He snatched the flask and brought it to his lips.

“Best friends.” Dean gave him a wink, tipping his head back. He barely grimaced as he twisted the cap back on. “This is a big day! Engine going in.”

“Hooray.” The deep rumble of Castiel’s voice as he said it should have made Dean laugh but he merely rolled his eyes and hit him with a towel.

“Come over here, you ungrateful asshole.”

Castiel walked over to the engine stand and found that it looked different, too, more stuff attached to it, panel with gauges and switches. When he reached out to touch it, Dean slapped his hand—telling him not to touch the throttle control assembly—and went back to pouring oil into the engine. He did a few more things, walking around the block, leaning over and inspecting it, pouring something else in. Finally, he walked over to the throttle control assembly—Castiel was proud of himself for remembering that—and waved Castiel over.

“Twist that.” Dean tapped a large red lever, wiping his hands thoroughly with a towel.

Castiel grabbed the lever and looked at Dean for confirmation, receiving a nod before he turned it. The gauges jumped, starting a soft hum. Dean nodded.

“Flick all the switches to on.”

Castiel did as he was told, the whirring of a fan joining the hum. Dean placed a finger on a small lever at the top of the engine and grinned at him.

“Press start.”

Castiel looked at the panel for a moment before he found a black button labeled  _ Start _ and pressed it. The engine glugged to life, shaking hard on the stand. It was a weak sound and Castiel looked to Dean’s face for what his reaction should be. He was serious, his finger tweaking the throttle before he leaned over and pressed on the contact points, making sure they were snug. And then the engine died.

“Again,” Dean said distractedly, and Castiel dutifully pushed the start button.

The engine roared to life and the hair on the back of Castiel’s neck stood up, goosebumps dimpling up on his arms. Dean was pressing his hand to something and then touching something else. Castiel stepped back as Dean leaned over to look underneath the engine, examining the pipes. He reached for the throttle again, tweaking it, and the engine responded with a satisfactory  _ vroom _ that even Castiel’s untrained ear could appreciate. Dean did it a few more times before he grabbed Castiel’s hand and brought it to the throttle to let him do it, too. Castiel had to admit, it was pretty cool. Dean watched the gauges as Castiel played with the throttle—encouraging him to push, hold, or toggle it—before he finally gave Castiel the thumbs up, his lips pursing. Castiel stepped back as Dean turned it off.

Castiel’s ears rang in the following silence. “That was…”

“I know, right?” Dean was grinning from ear to ear and he gave an exaggerated shudder as he shook out his hands. “Always gives me a bit of a chubby.”

Castiel’s eyes glanced down without his permission and then he looked away again, a blush heating his cheeks. That hadn’t been his reaction, but he could feel himself responding now. He shifted on his feet. Dean clapped him on the shoulder, seemingly unaware of his discomfort.

“Come on, let’s drop ‘er in.”

#

It took all of thirty minutes to maneuver the engine into the engine compartment, Dean guiding it with all the care and concern of a mother shepherding her child across the street. Once it was settled and Dean had fastened it to the mounting brackets, they both stood back with a beer in their hands and admired their—well, Dean’s—work.

“Hey,” Dean said, breaking the silence about halfway through his bottle. “I wanted to float something by you.” Castiel looked at him, but Dean’s eyes were still on the car. “There’s a big car show down in Wichita in the spring and they have a restoration competition. It’s kind of a big deal. I’d really like to enter.”

“With the Buick?” Castiel’s eyebrows rose. “Why not Baby?”

Dean’s head turned looking at Castiel and a surprised laugh passed his lips. Castiel felt his ears warm. “As much as I love Baby, she ain’t original. Your baby is.”

“What… what do I have to do?”

Dean shrugged. “Sign the entry form.” He paused, bringing his beer to his lips. “Go to the show with me.” He drank deeply, and Castiel felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

“Sounds easy enough.” Castiel nodded. “What’s the entry fee?”

Dean looked at him, then looked away. “Don’t worry about that.”

“Dean…”

“I said don’t worry about it.” Dean waved a hand towards the car. “Get behind the wheel. Start her up for real this time.”

Castiel sighed and walked around to the driver’s side. The door was leaning against a pile of tires in the corner, so he just had to slide in. Dean was folding himself into the passenger side as Castiel pulled the ignition key out of his pocket. The engine roared to life and this time, Castiel could feel himself chub up, something that was both hilarious and kind of embarrassing. The seat vibrated lightly under him and he could control the strength of it by pressing on the gas pedal. Dean gave a whoop and pumped his fist. They were both grinning like fools.

Dean reached over after a moment and turned it off, leaving the keys in the ignition and sighing, “She’s one fine lady.”

Castiel turned on his hip, his elbow resting on the seatback as he leaned his cheek on his hand. “Why are all cars female?”

Dean slouched down, his head leaning back on the seat. “Think it came from ships. You know all ships were named after women back in the day.” Dean let his eyes close.

Castiel frowned. “Why were ships all named after women?”

Dean sighed. “Because-” His voice cut off abruptly and his eyes opened, head lifting as a look of confusion covered his face. He snorted a laugh, turning to look at Castiel. “You know, I don’t know.” He lifted himself off the seat and started digging in his pants pocket until he produced his phone. “I bet Sam knows.”

Castiel watched Dean sniff as he put his phone to his ear and waited. After several rings, Castiel could hear a muffled, “Hello?”

“‘ey, Sammy. Got a question for you. Why,” Dean’s eyes met Castiel’s, “are ships named after women?”

There was a pause and then a startled laugh as Sam sputtered words of confusion Castiel couldn’t quite make out.

“Cas asked me why all cars are female. I said it was carried over from all ships being named after women back in ye olden times, and then he asked why ships were named after-”

Sam’s voice began and Dean’s brows drew together before he pulled the phone away from his face. “Hang on.” Dean was fumbling with the phone, and then pulled it back to his ear again. “I said  _ hang on, _ I’m gonna put you on speaker.” He looked down at the phone again and jabbed a button. “Okay. Go.”

“Is Cas there?” Sam’s voice wafted from the phone.

“Hello, Sam.” Dean pressed his lips together, cheeks going pink. Castiel found himself grinning back at him.

“Uh, hey Cas. Good question, man. Um lemme just… google…” They heard the tapping of keys. “Okay, so get this. Ships were named after goddesses in ancient times and then queens. It says… oh, ouch.”

“What?” Dean asked, his brows creasing as Sam laughed.

“Uh, it says that cars are referred to as ‘she’ because they needed to be ‘tended and coddled with a gentle hand.’ What the fuck; who writes like that?” Sam snorted again.

“Well, whoever it was, he ain’t wrong.”

“Women don’t need to be tended to or coddled, Dean,” Castiel admonished and Dean waved a hand at him.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m a chauvinist pig, I get it.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“It also says that ships represented a nurturing force for sailors because the sea was a rough and dangerous place. Like, you wouldn’t survive treading water for days-“

Dean pursed his lips. “Yeah, might get eaten by a shark.”

“Or die of dehydration,” Castiel added, and Dean nodded.

“Or a wicked sunburn.”

Sam cleared his throat loudly. “ _ Anyway _ , with a ship you had food and clothes and shelter. A ship takes good care of you. Like… like a mother.”

There was a pregnant pause and Dean cleared his throat. “Well, I know one thing for sure. The guy that wrote that was definitely a fag.”

Castiel let his hand fall hard to the back seat, giving Dean a withering look as Sam squawked, “ _ Dean! _ ”

Dean flapped a hand at the phone, as if his brother could see him. “I can say that; I got a gay friend now.” Castiel raised an eyebrow at Dean, who mouthed ‘what?’

“I most certainly did not give you permission to say anything of the sort. Nor  _ would I. _ ” Castiel’s glare was severe but Dean seemed unperturbed.

“So you’re telling me that I get zero privileges for being,” Dean made air quotes with one hand. “Inclusive?”

Castiel’s eyebrows rose, “What kind of privileges did you have in mind?”

The obnoxious grin on Dean’s face faded, the tip of his tongue reaching out to wet his lips. “Uh…well…”

“Other than just the… benefit of being my friend?” Castiel bit the inside of his cheeks to try and control his smile as Dean’s lips parted.

“Best friend?” Dean’s eyes fell to Castiel’s lips, tongue moving against the back of his teeth.

Castiel hummed as if that was debatable.

Sam laughed. “Keep ‘im in line, Cas.”

Castiel gazed at Dean, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Oh, I do try.”

Dean’s eyebrows raised and his eyes went dark. “Thanks for the help, Sammy. I’ll call you later.”

“Yeah, no pr-”

Dean hung up before Sam could even finish, tossing it onto the dash as he launched himself at Castiel. Their lips met fiercely, Dean’s hands burying themselves in Castiel’s hair.

“Shouldn’t do this,” Castiel muttered as Dean’s lips rasped over the stubble on Castiel’s jaw, Dean’s knees slotting on either side of Castiel’s hips. “Dean?” Castiel let out a low groan as Dean’s hands shoved under the layers of Castiel’s coat and shirt, finding the smooth skin of his torso. Castiel let his head hang back off the edge of the seat, looking upside-down at the stack of tires, as well as the workbench where their beers were growing warm. Meanwhile, Dean unzipped his coat. “Fuck it.”

Castiel hoisted himself up, placing his hands on Dean’s shoulders to push him back, then grabbed the backs of Dean’s thighs and pulled, flipping him onto his back in one powerful motion. It was a practiced move, one Castiel was particularly proud of, and the look of shock on Dean’s face sent blood running from his head down below his belt.

“Fuck, that was-” Castiel cut Dean off with a fierce kiss, teeth biting at the other man’s bottom lip as Castiel reached for the button on Dean’s jeans.

Castiel sat back to shrug out of his coat, and he couldn’t tell if it was the frigid air or Dean’s insistent fingers on Castiel’s belt buckle that pebbled his skin into gooseflesh but he didn’t have much time to think on it, too focused on getting Dean’s zipper down. Castiel wormed his hand into the open vee of Dean’s pants, gripping the solid line of his cock through the cloth of his boxers. Dean hissed, head falling back and exposing the long column of his neck to Castiel’s hungry mouth. Quick nips of Castiel’s teeth followed by soothing swipes of his tongue drove Dean into a frenzy, bucking his hips up into Castiel’s hand, humming at every timely squeeze.

Dean yelped as Castiel’s hand slipped over the band of his boxers, and Castiel could feel Dean’s length try to retract at the cool touch of his fingers. “Jesus, dude, your hands are freezing.”

Castiel wrangled his hand out of the fabric, bringing it to his mouth to huff warm air into his palm before flattening his tongue against it, watching Dean’s pupils dilate as Castiel brought it back down again. Dean’s hands were scrambling to push his jeans and boxers down his hips, his head falling back again when Castiel gripped him, giving him a slow stroke that punched the air right out of Dean’s lungs.

Dean may have started this, but Castiel couldn’t seem to stop himself from finishing it. His blood pumping hot as he flicked his wrist, Castiel gathered the pre-cum at the tip of Dean’s dick and slicked it down, thumbing the head before making a tight circle out of his thumb and forefinger that had Dean’s hips lifting off the seat.

“C-C-Cas?” Dean’s voice was wrecked, green eyes hooded, as breath huffed passed his full lips and Castiel pinned him with an intense blue stare.

“Yes, Dean?”

Dean groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head and Castiel held tight at the base, watching as Dean’s jaw tightened, his teeth gritting so hard Castiel heard them squeak. Dean let out a breathless chuckle, then a low groan as his head fell back against the seat. Castiel took the opportunity to suck hard at Dean’s Adam’s apple.

Castiel felt Dean’s hand work its way between them, fingers ghosting over the skin below his belly button before he flicked the button of Castiel’s jeans open with forefinger and thumb. Dean didn’t bother with the zipper, just flattened his hand against Castiel’s lower stomach and forced his hand inside Castiel’s pants. Castiel hissed, the pressure on his erection already uncomfortable, but adding Dean’s grappling fingers inside the tight space made it damn near unbearable in the sweetest way. Dean had to know this because he took his time, his free hand pushing Castiel’s shirt up and out of the way so Dean could watch as he let the zipper down. With the new space, he ran a thumb over the bulge in Castiel’s boxers, paying particular attention to the damp spot where Castiel’s tip was leaking.

Castiel bowed his head, lips sealing tight over a moan. He gave Dean’s cock a squeeze that made the other man gasp and scramble to get his hands into Castiel’s boxers, fingers dipping beneath the waistband at Castiel’s hips. Castiel bit back another moan as Dean’s calloused hands scraped down his skin, pushing Castiel’s pants and boxers down his thighs.

Dean gripped Castiel’s length, just a quick, tight squeeze before letting his fingers trail from base to tip, sending a shiver through Castiel that nearly shook him apart.

“No fair,” Dean muttered, lifting his head up to nip at Castiel’s bottom lip. Castiel’s eyes opened to stare down into endless green, ande hummed in question. “My hands are always warm.” Dean gave Castiel a steady stroke that caused his mouth to drop open. “Your cold paws are robbing me of my dignity.”

Castiel snorted as he shifted backward, still crouched low over Dean but sitting back farther on his heels. Dean’s eyes widened, feeling the deliberate huff of Castiel’s breath against the tip of his dick. “Allow me to apologize.”

The strangled sound that came out of Dean was almost inhuman, his hand slapping against the seatback for purchase as he tried to widen his legs as Castiel’s mouth slid down, down, down, in a slow, torturous descent. Castiel briefly wondered how long it had been for Dean; their frantic rutting in the front seat of the Impala seemed so long ago. Castiel flattened his tongue against the large vein on the underside of Dean’s shaft, feeling it jerk against the roof of his mouth as he drew back up, gripping Dean tightly at the base as he teased the tip with soft kitten licks by the tip of his tongue.

“Dude…  _ dude _ …” Dean moaned, his hand threading back into Castiel’s hair, Dean’s cock jerking at the huff of Castiel’s laugh against his skin.

“Do you want to come like this?” Castiel asked, his voice so low it seemed to be a mere vibration in his chest, and Dean surprised him by shaking his head vigorously.

“N-n-no. But don’t stop yet.” Dean’s head fell back, his other hand burying itself in Castiel’s hair, too. Castiel allowed Dean to guide his mouth back down, but only because he added, “Please.”

Castiel took his time, working Dean up into a frenzy only to guide him back down again. Dean was cursing and sweating, fist pressed between his eyes as Castiel pulled off, giving Dean a rough stroke with his hand as Castiel sucked his thumb into his mouth. Dean’s hips came completely off the seat when Castiel pressed the pad of his thumb against the place just behind Dean’s balls, using the knuckle of his forefinger to ghost over the tight muscle below it.

“W-w-what are you-” Dean’s voice died with a groan as Castiel applied more pressure. “Fuck.”

Castiel let his thumb slide down, padding over the pucker and rubbing slow circles. Dean’s thighs twitched, his hole pulsing under Castiel’s thumb, and Castiel was so unbearably hard. He sucked his forefinger into his mouth, still stroking Dean steadily, then prodded gently, the tip of his finger pressing past the sensitive rim. Dean’s cock jerked in Castiel’s hand, precum leaking fast.

“C-C-Cas? Um…I don’t-”

Castiel guided the tip into his mouth, sucking sweetly on the head as he inched that finger in slowly, easing Dean through it. Dean’s body began to tremble at the second knuckle. Castiel kept applying light pressure with the pad of his finger, and when he found the rounded nub of Dean’s prostate, he dropped his mouth all the way down.

Dean cried out, his hips lifting, and Castiel choked, throat closing around Dean without his permission. Castiel tried to brace himself, but Dean somehow managed to hold on to his orgasm, his fist shoved into his mouth, eyes squeezed tightly shut. Castiel pulled off, slowly working his jaw back and forth, watching Dean’s stomach tremble as he threw an arm over his eyes and tried to breathe. The tip of his cock was a deep purple and Castiel smudged his lips against it, dragging the pad of his finger over Dean’s prostate as he slid it out.

Dean’s hands scrabbled at his shoulders, and he emitted a low growl before pulling Castiel up roughly. Castiel wasn’t prepared, hand flying out to steady himself, but he missed the seat over Dean’s shoulder, hand planting on the floorboard, instead. As his body collided with Dean’s, both men froze, their dicks slotted against each other, trapped between the rough fabric of their shirts. Castiel lifted his head to look down at Dean, whose eyes were all pupil, rimmed in green.

Castiel could hear the click of Dean’s throat as he wormed his hand between them, Castiel lifting just enough for Dean to get both of them into his hand, his fingers not quite long enough to complete the circle around them. Castiel threw his head back, the simple action enough to draw his release dangerously close to the surface, and Dean lifted his head to graze his teeth against Castiel’s collarbone. Using his other arm to pull Castiel back down again, Dean held him close with one hand firm on the small of his back as the other hand began to move.

“Oh my…  _ fuck _ .” Castiel hung his head, his hips rocking with the swift jerk of Dean’s hand, and he felt Dean press their foreheads together.

Castiel kissed him then, sucking at Dean’s full lips as he felt the tension build. Dean’s head fell back again, the cords in his neck drawing tight as his eyes squeezed shut before his face went slack, a gasp catching in his throat. “Cas… can’t…”

Castiel’s hand covered Dean’s own, keeping the rhythm as Dean fell apart underneath him. Dean’s back arched, and if Castiel thought he was beautiful before, the man underneath him, shivering and crying out in ecstasy, was the most stunning thing Castiel had ever seen. Dean lifted his head, panting, the last of his release dribbling over their hands as Dean’s free hand clasped the back of Castiel’s neck, pulling him down.

Castiel lost it as Dean’s mouth met his, soft lips parting to force his tongue back into Castiel’s mouth. Castiel’s animalistic growl as his release shuddered through him made Dean quake, pressing his cheek hard to Castiel’s as they both began to come down. Castiel nuzzled at Dean’s cheekbone, his hand loosening around Dean’s. They had to peel their fingers from each other, their release already going tacky in the winter air.

“Jesus,” Dean muttered, his forehead falling to rest at the base of Castiel’s throat and Castiel felt a smile tug at his lips. He pressed his face to the top of Dean’s head, breathing in the scent of shampoo and scalp—with a hint of motor oil—before he kissed him there.

“Let’s not bring him into this.” Castiel oomph’d as Dean smacked him in the ribs.

Dean looked down at his hand and made a face, reaching for the glove compartment and pulling out some papers there. He squinted at them and let out a bark of a laugh. “Are these… sermon notes?”

“Oh, Jesus.” Castiel snatched the papers from Dean and sat back on his heels, using them to wipe at his hand, unceremoniously.

“I thought we weren’t going to bring him into this.” Dean snatched them back and wiped his own hand before he opened his arms and wrestled Castiel back down on top of him.

Castiel rested his weight tentatively before giving in and relaxing all the way, pressing his nose to Dean’s pulse point and listening to the dull thud of his heart slowing down. Dean’s hands were threaded at Castiel’s lower back, body loose and pliant under him. Castiel’s eyes felt heavy, the watery winter sun doing nothing to inspire him to wakefulness.

“We should move.” Dean’s voice was slurred, clearly unmotivated despite his suggestion. Castiel shook his head, pressing his face to the middle of Dean’s chest. “You wanna get caught out here with your ass hangin’ out?” Castiel lifted his head to glare down at Dean, the sunlight making his lashes cast long shadows over his freckled cheeks. “Cause I really don’t.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and sat back, pulling his pants back up as Dean lifted his ass to do the same. Dean sat up and rubbed one eye with the backs of his fingers. Castiel found it adorable and had to promptly remind himself that he had to get those types of thoughts in check. Castiel yelped as the flat of Dean’s fist hit his chest just hard enough to startle.

“‘ey.” Dean was grinning. “You just christened your baby.” Dean held out his arms in triumph, a wide grin pulling at his mouth. Castiel made a face. “You. Are. Welcome, my friend.” Dean licked his lips and folded his arms behind his head, still grinning.

“Best friend,” Castiel smirked before pursing his lips and looked around the half-gutted interior of the Buick. “Maybe I’ll name it Dean.”

Dean’s face went slack with alarm, the color draining from his cheeks. “Y-y-you can’t. You can’t.” Dean swallowed hard, eyes darting around the car as if terrified, and Castiel tried to ignore the sudden stab in his chest. “Seriously, please do-”

“Of course,” Castiel sighed, watching Dean’s face relax. Castiel found it easier to pity him than to admit he was feeling sorry for himself. “As you wish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
> 
> [Visit me on Tumblr](https://deanwinchesterfirstofhisname.tumblr.com)  
> 


	14. Come Home to Roost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel spends his night off at Harvelle's and makes some new friends. Or so he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: attempted rape with an object, graphic violence, homophobia with use of gay slurs, violence driven by homophobia

It was snowing hard two weeks later as Castiel stepped into the office of Singer’s Auto, not even bothering to pull the beanie off his head as he squinted past the front desk into the shop. Dean was crouched next to the back fender of a Silverado, arms deep in the wheel well.

“Winchester! Your boyfriend’s here!”

Castiel watched Dean topple backwards onto his ass, bow legs nearly kicking the jack out from under the truck. He scrambled back but the truck merely shook, then resettled. The bays echoed with laughter as the other mechanics paused to watch Dean pull himself to his feet. He pretended to laugh, himself, doubling over to slap his knee before standing up straight and flipping everyone the bird with an unamused scowl. The laughter began to die as Dean turned to stomp towards the front, grabbing a towel off a tool box to wipe his hands as he went.

“Do  _ not _ tell me somethin’ is wrong with the Monte.”

“No, I’ve… uh… got that check. From Howard. For… whatever it is.”

“Paint,” Dean supplied, their fingers brushing as he took the slip of paper from Castiel. “Hang on, I’ll show you your options.”

Dean’s tongue peeked out of his mouth as he banged out something on the keyboard of the old desktop in front of him, its keys nearly unreadable under all the grease. Castiel tried not to be mesmerized. After a few clicks, Dean nudged the screen so Castiel could see it.

“Okay, you got two choices if you want to stay with the original colors.” Dean’s eyes met his. “Which you do.” Castiel nodded. “You can do Apollo White,” Dean clicked on an image. “With black trim. Or,” Dean leaned closer, his eyes dancing, “my personal favorite.” Dean clicked on another image. “Saturn Yellow. Also with black trim.”

Castiel made a face. “A  _ yellow _ car?” Dean’s face fell. “I mean, sure. Yellow.” Castiel’s nose scrunched. “Great.”

“You can do the white,” Dean clicked on the other picture again, his voice even.

“I mean… it’s the original color, right?” Castiel asked slowly, and Dean looked up at him, eyes squinting in question. “You said… it mattered that everything was original.”

Dean blinked as he looked back at the screen. He snorted. “I did say that, didn’t I?” He groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. “Fine. Apollo White. I’ll order it.”

“Maybe I should think about it…”

Castiel’s voice trailed off as his eyes tracked over Dean’s shoulder. A tall, thin man was sauntering over from the group of grumbling mechanics that Castiel was surprised to discover were watching them. Dean looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes before looking at Castiel in warning.

“How ya doin’, Brokeback?”

Castiel blinked into the man’s face, which was just as long and thin as his body with a high forehead and a light beard, meticulously groomed. Castiel glanced down at the patch on his chest.

“Alistair.” Castiel grimaced. “Seems your father hated you as much as mine hated me.” Castiel held out his hand. Alistair sneered at it.

Dean smacked Castiel’s wrist down and turned to glare at the taller man. “First rule of business: don’t insult the customer, asshole.” Dean turned back to Castiel with a tart smile, though Castiel could see in the tense line of his shoulders that Dean was on edge. “This is why we keep him in the back.”

“Oh, I figured it was because he had a face that would scare away a mountain lion.” Castiel turned to Alistair. “You really should work on your personality if you can’t afford to get this fixed.” Castiel gestured to his own face and laughter rang out through the shop. Even Dean broke into a chuckle, despite the tension.

Alistair’s face went deadly before he gave a prim smile. “If you like them pretty, Dean’s your boy. Truckers always comment on his pretty mouth.” Dean jumped as Alistair laid a hard slap to his ass, knocking him into the counter as Alistair turned to walk away. “Enjoy it while you can, Brokeback.”

Dean’s scowl shifted into a smirk as he looked after him. “Yeah, your girlfriend sure does like it.” More laughter from the peanut gallery as Alistair sauntered away. “Had to throw away the sheets.” Dean brought his fingers to his mouth and made a lewd gesture. Alistair turned to glare at him as he leaned over the hood of an old sedan. Dean returned his attention to Castiel. “Nice comeback, Cas. Think you could have pissed him off more?”

“What, you wanted me to hit on him?” Castiel raised an eyebrow and Dean’s face went blank, clearly unamused.

“Check delivered. Don’t you have a job to go to? Saving people’s lives or something?”

Castiel couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips. “Something like that. I’m off at 8 tonight.” Dean raised an eyebrow. “Too much overtime. Thought you might want to get something other than diner food.”

“What?” Dean asked, after a short pause of confusion.

Castiel blinked. “It’s… it’s Thursday… I thought-”

“Oh, right, right.” Dean reached up to rub the back of his neck and Castiel could see the young man’s ears were red. “Uh, well, I got inventory tonight.” Castiel pressed his lips together in a thin line and nodded, taking a step back. He should have known better. “I’ll message you. Let you know.”

Castiel’s head snapped up, seeing that Dean’s entire neck was red, his eyes glued to the papers on the front desk. Castiel fought the flutter in his stomach. “Okay, I’ll see you later.”

Castiel heard Dean’s grumble of agreement as he turned to leave, followed by his voice booming. “You queers got your look, now who wants me to put in a good word? You know what they say, if the best friend don’t like you, you’re fucked.”

#

Castiel arrived at Harvelle’s at the odd time of night where the older crowd were having their last drinks or saying their goodbyes and the younger folks were just getting started. The sign outside advertised dollar drafts in honor of Thirsty Thursday and Castiel figured even if Dean didn’t show up he’d at least be able to enjoy a drink like a normal person. Maybe pick up a game of darts, meet some people who weren’t grievously injured or resolutely in the closet. He needed more friends.

He climbed onto a barstool, craning his head to look for any other familiar faces. Jo was mixing drinks a few stools down, and she gave him a friendly smile which he returned. An older woman with a no-nonsense look about her sidled up to him.

“Help you?”

“Uh, yeah, can I get a-”

“Winter seasonal, right?” Jo hollered, stepping over to the handles, and the woman narrowed her eyes at her. Jo gave a shrug. “He hangs out with Dean.”

The woman turned back to Castiel with an eyebrow raised. “Dean Winchester?”

Castiel nodded as Jo sat the mug in front of him. “One Friend With Benefits.” Jo winked at him, and he handed her a five, waving for her to keep it. She grinned at him and Castiel noticed the older woman narrow her eyes.

“Please don’t hold that against me.” Castiel held out his hand. “Castiel Novak.”

She grasped it tight, giving a brutal squeeze that Castiel just had to endure. “Ellen Harvelle.”

“Owner?”

Ellen gave a deep nod before tilting her head after Jo. “And mother.”

“Ah.” Castiel took a drink, quickly wiping the foam from his upper lip as he set it back down.

“I thought I knew all of Pastor Novak’s boys.” Ellen continued to size him up, putting a hand on her hip. Castiel gave her a bland smile.

“I’m the black sheep.”

Ellen let out a bark of a laugh. “God, what’d you do to steal the title from Luc?”

Castiel let out a laugh of his own. “Sided with my mother when they split.”

“You know, Gabriel used to put googly eyes on damn near everything in here.” Ellen reached for a rag as Castiel snorted, having just taken a drink, but he somehow managed to keep the liquid in his mouth.

“Sounds like my brother.”

“Still finding some to this day.” Ellen gave him a small quirk of her lips as she turned to a new set of customers down the bar. “Tell him Ellen said he’s still not welcome back.”

Castiel snorted a laugh. “I’ll do that.”

Castiel shook his head as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, bringing up Gabriel’s text window.  _ Owner of a bar here seems to remember you. _

He waited a moment for a reply before clicking over to his camera and sharing a picture of his mug on Instagram with the caption,  _ My new favorite local brew #FWB @lawrencebeercompany _

A text popped up from Gabriel.  _ ELLEN? Tell her I still have wet dreams about her. _

Castiel made a face.  _ I absolutely WILL NOT. _

_ I know you’re gay, dude, but even you gotta admit she’s a MILF. _

Castiel looked up, searching to get another look at Ellen but met Jo’s eyes instead. He immediately looked down, but she’d already started towards him.  _ I think her daughter likes me. _

_ Let her down easy, little brother. That Mama Bear ain’t to be tangoed with. _

“So… Castiel?”

Castiel looked up from his phone and gave Jo a tense smile, “Hi.”

She smiled sweetly, “Hi.” Jo leaned over the bar, crossing her arms under her breasts in what Castiel assumed was an attempt to make them look fuller. “Here by yourself?”

“Uh… yes…” Castiel’s phone lit up with a notification,  _ dwinchester79 liked your photo _ . “Got off early tonight. Thought I might play some darts.” Castiel glanced over at the boards, though no one was playing yet.

“You’re in luck. I happen to be in charge of the league.” Jo grinned at him, and he took another drink of his beer.

“Don’t think I’d be able to join a league with my…” Castiel was distracted by another notification.  _ dwinchester79 sent you a message.  _ “… schedule.”

Jo said something but Castiel didn’t hear it, focused on Dean’s message.  _ R U @ Harvelles?? _

_ Yep. Dollar draft.  _ Castiel turned his attention back to Jo. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I said, you should meet Shep.” She pointed down the bar at a handsome older man in a red flannel. “His team sometimes needs an alternate for when one of their wives won’t let ‘em come out and play.” Jo cocked her head. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

Castiel met Shep and threw a few games of darts before the older man had to beg off to get home to his wife. They exchanged numbers and agreed to play again sometime, Castiel watching him go with half a beer left in his hand. He threw it back in a few gulps, figuring it was best for him to get home, when a sharp thwap of fingers hit his bicep from behind. He whirled around and a short, stocky man with a beard gave him a grin.

“Hey, saw you playing with Shep. We were gonna get a game together, but it’s uneven. You wanna join?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder and Castiel looked to the table in the corner where two burly men in overalls and hunter caps were laughing, eyes cutting to the two of them.

“Uh, yeah… sure.”

“Name’s Marv.”

“Castiel.”

“Good meetin’ you, Castiel.” Marv cut his eyes over at the bar and gestured at Jo. “Lemme get you a drink.”

Marv and his two friends, Theo and Zachariah, were terrible at darts but extremely good natured about it, and Castiel found himself having a better time than he’d anticipated. He wasn’t thinking about his father or Dean. In fact, he wasn’t thinking about much of anything, given that they’d somehow convinced him to switch from beer to whiskey at some point. Castiel had lost count by the time Jo was sidling up for the second or maybe third time.

“You boys better take it easy,” Jo said, her eyes on Castiel as the other three took the rocks glasses from her tray. Marv shoved one into Castiel’s hand.

“We’re  _ fine, _ Joanna.” Marv threw an arm around Castiel’s shoulder. “Just trying to get acquainted with our new friend, here.”

Jo hummed, eyeing Castiel hard before she slinked away, looking over her shoulder at him a few times on her way back to the bar. Castiel could smell the whiskey on his breath as Marv pulled him in close.

“Think that one’s sweet on you, buddy.”

Castiel let out a spastic chuckle and shook his head. “Uh… not my type.” He reached into his pocket for his phone and squinted down at it, so he missed the look the other three men shared. He had a few messages from Dean.

_ Watch ur back. _

_ U still out? _

_ Fine I’ll drop by twist my arm _

_. _ Castiel snorted and looked around the bar but didn’t see Dean anywhere. “I’m gonna… uh…” Castiel’s voice trailed, seeing the timestamp on the last message was only a few minutes ago. “Bathroom.”

Castiel weaved his way through the crowd, head swimming pleasantly as he made his way to the men’s room. His arms felt like a separate entity as he pushed the door open, looking down at his phone and as he sidled up to a urinal, another message came through.

_ Where r u? _

Castiel rolled his eyes, tapping out  _ bathroom _ quickly before pocketing his phone and undoing his belt buckle. Something hit him hard between the shoulders, knocking him forward. His forehead collided with the plaster above the urinal while his knee banged into the porcelain. His hazy brain was still trying to process how he’d managed to tumble forward when something broke across the back of his head, his vision going white. The sound of glass shattering was muffled by the ringing in his ears.

His arms were pinned behind his back then, a forearm bearing down on his shoulder blades so that he was pinned to the wall, the handle on the urinal digging uncomfortably into his abdomen. He struggled, confusion giving way to fear when he felt hot breath on his ear, the scrape of stubble on the back of his neck.

A voice growled behind him. “We don’t want no fags in our bar.”

Castiel’s eyes widened, feeling someone tugging on his jeans, trying to get them down his hips and he struggled harder.

“No, no. Shhhhh.” The voice placated and Castiel yelped, feeling something sharp dig into the side of his neck. “You’re gonna be still or I’m gonna fuck you with the broken end of this bottle, instead.”

“No,” Castiel gritted, panting and trying to pull his legs back together, but the man holding him kicked the inside of his ankle, spreading them further.

“Come on, man. You scared him. Let’s just go!” Another voice from by the sinks sounded high and nervous.

“Naw, he needs to learn his lesson. Get over here and get his pants down.”

Castiel was panting, mind sluggish from the alcohol but panic was bringing everything into focus. His throat closed as he felt his pants clear his ass, the man behind him adjusting his hold. Castiel felt the neck of the bottle graze his lower back and his bladder let go, urine pouring down his legs in fear, splashing against the urinal and floor beneath him. He struggled harder, nearly sending the man behind him toppling backwards, but with the other’s help they managed to slam him back into the urinal, the handle punching the breath from his lungs so his cry for help was more of a strangled gasp.

“Can’t come in here, man.” Another voice from outside the door said, and Castiel sucked in a lungful of air only to have his scream turn into a squelched yelp as a hand closed on his throat.

“Get outta my way, Marv, I gotta piss.”

Castiel’s eyes widened, knowing that voice, and managed to get his elbow free. He jammed it back into someone’s ribs and the hand on his throat loosened.

“ _ DEAN!” _

_ “CAS?”  _ A few thumps and the sound of the door banging open against the wall echoed in Castiel’s ears before a savage growl sent a shiver down his spine.

“Hey… hey, Dean, man, we were just playin-”

The sentence was cut off abruptly by the crack of breaking teeth and the slump of a body hitting the floor. The sound of hands meeting flesh accompanied the release of Castiel’s arms, his body falling against the urinal and then sliding down, knees too weak to hold him. The smell of piss and urinal cake was strong enough to make Castiel gag, all the whiskey he drank coming back up and splashing onto the floor.

Castiel cringed hard as the crack of a bone breaking was followed immediately by a muffled howl, letting Castiel know it was probably his assailant’s jaw. He tried to pull himself up, hand pressing to the cold porcelain ,but the world spun around him. His stomach gave another painful lurch as more brown liquid spewed from his mouth.

Castiel vaguely heard the squeak of the door opening again, trying to wipe at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Oh… Oh, shit…  _ Ey! Somebody help!  _ Dean, stop! You’re gonna fuckin’ kill him!  _ Dean! _ ”

“Dean…” Castiel managed to mumble, slumping back against the porcelain, and he knew that later he’d be disgusted by this.

“Fuck… fuck, Cas.”

Castiel flailed as he felt hands on his shoulders, pulling him back, and he heard a soft shushing in his ear as strong arms wrapped around his chest, his body falling back into another familiar body. Dean cursed softly, shifting, and Castiel suddenly felt like crying, the fear and shame stinging hot behind his eyes.

“Come on, buddy. Get up.” Dean grunted as he hoisted them both to their feet, turning Castiel to face him. “Pull your pants up. I got you.”

“I’m sorry.” Castiel covered his face, humiliated in his wet jeans with vomit splashed on his shirt.

Dean shushed him again, arms circling him to bring his jeans back up to his waist. “We gotta get outta here.”

“ _The fuck_ _is happenin’ in here! Theo!?”_ Castiel’s head was hanging low, so he only saw muddy boots step into what looked like aspirated blood on the floor. “ _Winchester! I’ll kill you!”_

“Yep, time to go,” Dean muttered, and Castiel felt the both of them collide with the body at the door, knocking him backwards as Dean dragged him bodily through the hall and out the front door into the freezing winter night.

#

Castiel couldn’t stop apologizing. From the moment that Dean dropped him into the back seat of the Impala, as they skidded around corners, even after Dean yelled at him to shut up. He apologized as they trundled through a residential neighborhood, then again when Dean cut the headlights to idle down a driveway and into a garage. He apologized as Dean opened the door and attempted to pull him out of the backseat. Dean hissed at him to shut up again.

Castiel had no idea where he was, just allowed Dean to loop his arm around Dean’s neck, his arm supporting nearly all of Castiel’s weight as he pushed open a door at the back of the garage and dragged him up a steep flight of narrow steps. Dean fumbled for the keys in his pocket, Castiel feeling him shake with the effort to keep both of them upright while jamming a key in the lock.

Dean dropped the keys to the floor upon entry, kicking the door closed behind him as he dragged Castiel through a small living room, pushing through one doorway, then another, until they were in a pitch-black room. Dean turned in what felt to Castiel like a very small space, his arm loosening around Castiel’s ribs and suddenly Castiel was being lowered to the ground, the backs of his knees hooking over the side of a bathtub as he thunked into it. Dean heaved a sigh as he leaned for the light switch, throwing the bathroom into high relief and Castiel threw his arm up against the offensive brightness.

“Dean… I’m so sor-”

“ _ Stop fucking apologizing _ !”

Dean’s voice echoed sharply in the small room, the sound magnified by the tile and Castiel actually covered his head. He heard Dean scramble, his hands closing delicately around Castiel’s wrists to pull his arms down. Castiel couldn’t look at him.

“ _ ’ _ m sorry, Cas,” Dean muttered, running a hand quickly over Castiel’s hair. “I would never…”

Dean sighed and hung his head for a moment before he reached for the knobs on the shower, twirling them. Castiel yelped, cold water raining down on him as he sputtered and shook. Dean pulled his shoes from his feet then peeled off his socks before hooking his arms under Castiel’s, grunting as he lifted him to his feet again.

“You got it from here?” Dean’s hands hovered at Castiel’s elbows as he slumped against the tile, pressing his face against it and wishing that he could just slither down the drain. Instead, Castiel just nodded, eyes closed. “Okay. I’ll.. uh… let you get cleaned up.”

Castiel heard the door snap shut and immediately sunk to his knees, his entire body feeling like it was going to shake itself apart. He couldn’t think, brain still fuzzy from alcohol, muscles sore from adrenaline, skin on fire with panic. He somehow managed to peel his clothes off, dropping them in a soaking heap at the back of the tub, then scrubbed his skin raw with Dean’s bath sponge and body wash before doing it over again, for good measure. He was shaking and pale as he stepped out of the tub, finding a fresh towel on the corner of the sink. Castiel wrapped it around his shoulders, clutching like a shield.

When he looked in the mirror, he immediately snapped his eyes shut, a hand flying out to cover his reflection as shame made his stomach roll over on itself. He looked like a drowned rat. A drunk, stupid, weak, drowned rat that had pissed himself as he’d nearly been-

A soft knock on the door. “Cas? You okay?”

Castiel didn’t trust his voice, so he tried to make the noise of assent as loud as possible.

Dean cleared his throat. “I… uh… got some clothes for you out here. Just… come out when you’re ready.”

Castiel heard his footsteps fade and what sounded like another door closing before the ringing silence returned. He hung his head, tongue running over cracked, dry lips and his mouth tasted foul. He grabbed for the mouth wash and swished some around until his taste buds felt dead and the inside of his cheeks were burning.

When he peeked his head out the bathroom door, he found a small room dominated by a queen sized bed with matching bedside tables and an old dresser. It was impeccably neat, bed made with military precision. No knick knacks, just a few pictures in frames on the bedside tables and a laptop charging on the dresser. A window with no curtains or blinds framed a pitch-black night. One bedside lamp was on, making the room glow a golden hue. Castiel found a stack of neatly folded clothes at the corner of the bed with a pair of thick socks sitting on top. Castiel’s bare toes curled into the threadbare carpet, suddenly freezing. His head was beginning to throb as he pulled a pair of gray boxer briefs up his legs followed by soft, flannel pajama pants and a faded AC/DC t-shirt. His hands trembled as he sat to pull the socks on, teeth chattering suddenly, though he didn’t feel all that cold.

Castiel stood at the bedroom door for what felt like ages, listening to the sound of utensils clinking and the sizzle of butter in a pan. He couldn’t face Dean, not after everything that had happened, but he couldn’t exactly hide in the man’s bedroom forever, either. Dean would want to sleep at some point. Castiel thoroughly contemplated the merits of climbing out the window before ultimately giving in and opening the door.

He nearly fell back on his ass, finding Dean standing there a plate in his hand, mouth opening.

“Hey, Ca-! Oh, shit!” Dean nearly sent the plate flying, his free hand going to his chest, and he looked vaguely annoyed before he laughed at himself. “Jesus, you scared me. I made you a grilled cheese.”

Dean extended the plate towards him and Castiel blinked at it before looking up. Dean’s face was neutral, as if he hadn’t just dumped a drunk man covered in piss and vomit into his bathtub. As if he hadn’t torn out of a bar parking lot, squealing around corners to lose anyone who might try to follow. As if he hadn’t broken bones and teeth to save Castiel from something his brain wouldn’t even allow him to creep close enough to name. And as if none of that was humiliating enough, Castiel took that moment to burst into tears, ugly sobs pulling from his chest as he covered his face with his hands, trembling so hard he wasn’t sure if he could continue to stand.

Dean cursed under his breath and suddenly Castiel was wrapped up in a tight embrace, Dean’s hand threaded into his hair, forcing his head into the crook of Dean’s neck. Castiel’s arms went under his, fingers twisting in the fabric at Dean’s shoulder blades. Dean’s face pressed into Castiel’s hair, sucking in a full breath before Castiel felt it rush down the collar of his shirt, and Dean settled into the hug, his arms tightening to hold Castiel steady.

“You’re fine, Cas. I got you. Don’t worry, man, you’re safe here. A’ght?” Dean heaved a breath. “I warned you, dude. I fucking warned you. You dumb idiot.” Dean shook his head and his grip seemed to double, the air forced from Castiel’s lungs. “But I got you, okay? Nothing like that’s ever gonna happen again. You hear me, Cas? I’ll break every one of those sons of bitches’ goddamn necks. No one is gonna touch you. Not while there’s blood left in my body. God _ damn _ it, Cas. Why, man? Why can’t you just… fuck.”

Dean’s forehead dropped to Castiel’s shoulder and Castiel heard Dean’s teeth grind. A low growl came from his throat before he sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly through pursed lips. Castiel found he wasn’t trembling anymore, the tears drying on his cheeks. He just felt numb. His grip on Dean softened, his muscles weak, and suddenly he was so tired he didn’t think he could stand much longer.

Dean pulled back, finally, hands coming between them to cup Castiel’s face, green eyes searching flat blue and finding nothing. Dean pressed his lips together and turned to the counter, grabbing the plate again.

“You need food.” Castiel tried to shake his head but Dean just shoved the plate into his hands. “Non-negotiable. Eat it.”

Castiel took the sandwich off the plate and shoved nearly the entire thing in his mouth, the bread and cheese nearly rupturing his esophagus as he tried to swallow. He watched Dean step over to the stove and make another before he turned off the burner and dropped the pan in the sink. He didn’t bother with a plate, just switched the sandwich from hand to hand until it was cool enough to eat and then stuffed it into his mouth, stepping towards Castiel.

“‘ome on. Nee’a lay ‘own.”

Dean flicked his hands at Castiel, corralling him back into the bedroom as he chewed. Castiel shuffled backwards until Dean nudged him out of the way to pull back the blankets. He held them up, waiting, and then gestured impatiently when Castiel didn’t move to climb in.

“I… I can’t stay here… I have to ch-check on How-”

“Don’t worry about that; I sent Jo.” Dean waved him over again.

Castiel’s brows crinkled. “You what?”

Dean’s eyes met his, as patient as if he were speaking to a child. “Joanna. From the bar. I sent her to check on your dad. She’s got a crush on you, she’s good for it.”

Castiel blinked at the bed. “O-oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Dean mocked and gestured more impatiently.

“I can stay on the cou-“ Castiel’s voice dropped off as Dean’s face turned dangerously unamused. “O-okay.”

Castiel felt ridiculous as Dean tucked him in, stepping out to get him a glass of water and a few ibuprofen, which Castiel took without objection. Dean reached under the lamp shade to click it off, the only light now from the kitchen. Castiel heard Dean sigh as he began to shuffle to the door.

“Wait!”

Dean stopped with his hand on the knob, looking back at Castiel with a quirked eyebrow. “What?” He asked, tone trying to hide impatience when Castiel didn’t speak.

“Nothing.”

“No, what?”

“Would you mind-”

Dean sighed. “Yeah, sure, lemme lock up.”

Dean disappeared for a moment before reappearing, his head down as he smacked the switch just outside the bedroom door and the entire place was thrown into darkness. Castiel couldn’t see in the black but he could hear Dean moving through the room, felt the whisper of his fingers against the foot of the bed as he worked his way around to the other side. The bed dipped as he sat and Castiel could now barely make out his silhouette, the shape of his body slightly darker than the dark around them. Castiel heard his spine pop as he rolled his shoulders, the crack of his neck as he tilted it from side to side. Dean cleared his throat as he spun to lay on top of the covers, still fully clothed.

“You don’t want to put on pajamas?”

“I sleep naked.”

Castiel felt a rush of heat prickle his skin that was more embarrassment than arousal. “I see.”

“I’m sure you’d like to,” Dean drawled and then sighed. “Go to sleep.”

“Dean?”

“Yes, Cas?”

“I’m sorry.”

Dean’s head lifted from the pillow. “If you apologize to me one more time, I’m going to punch you in the mouth.”

“Did you… are you hurt?”

Dean’s head fell back onto the pillow. “No. Go to sleep.”

“Your hands-”

“-are throbbing and my knuckles are busted, yes. Go to sleep.”

“I can-”

“I’m sure you can. Go to sleep.”

Castiel rolled onto his side, arm curling under the pillow. He could barely make out the contours of Dean’s profile. His voice was small and quiet when he said, “Thank you.”

Dean’s head turned towards him and their eyes met in the dark, a strange connection more felt than seen. “Don’t mention it.”

“Dean, I-”

“I said don’t mention it.” Dean looked resolutely back at the ceiling and Castiel felt the tension in the body next to his. Castiel’s hand under the covers brushed against Dean’s fist, clenched at his side.

“Are you ok-”

“Don’t you dare ask me if I’m okay.” Dean choked on the humorless laugh. “If I hadn’t gone in when I di-” Castiel felt him tense up even more. “I’m fine. You’re fine. We’re both fine.” Dean heaved a shaking sigh.

Castiel blinked a few times in the dark before he shimmied closer, crowding into Dean’s space. He sighed as Castiel’s forehead pressed to his bicep.

“Seriously? You wanna cuddle? Seriously.”

Castiel made to scoot back but Dean beat him to it, huffing an annoyed breath as he pulled himself out of bed. Castiel heard the jingle of his belt as he undid it, the ruffling sound of his jeans hitting the floor. The blanket ripped back and Dean’s body hitting the mattress jostled Castiel, making his teeth clack together. Dean burrowed down a bit before lifting his arm, inviting Castiel to duck underneath.

As soon as Castiel’s cheek hit Dean’s chest it was like every part of him melted, muscles unfurling, lungs opening, mind going blissfully blank. Castiel’s arm slid over Dean’s stomach, fingers dipping under the hem to lay his palm flat against the warm skin of his belly. Dean cleared his throat, wiggling before tensing his abs and Castiel would have laughed at his vanity if exhaustion wasn’t pulling him under so fast.

“Than’ you,” Castiel found himself slurring, body curling into Dean’s and he was all but asleep when Dean replied.

“Sleep, Castiel.” Dean’s nose pressed into his hair, inhaling deeply. “I got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
> 
> [Visit me on Tumblr](https://deanwinchesterfirstofhisname.tumblr.com)   
> 


	15. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel wakes up in Dean's bed and after some coaxing Dean helps him put the previous night behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: mention of attempted rape, graphic depiction of sexual acts, anal fingering, oral sex,

Castiel slept deeply until he didn’t, waking up to a dim room and a warm body behind him. Dean’s breath fanned damply against the back of his neck, letting Castiel know his lips were close enough to touch without actually doing so. A strong arm wrapped tightly under his, hand loosely fisted at his sternum, the other shoved beneath the pillow they were sharing. One of Dean’s legs was thrown over both of his and Castiel could feel the solid line of Dean’s erection against his lower back, something that left him aroused but also vaguely unsettled.

_ “You’re gonna be still or I’m gonna fuck you with the broken end of this bottle, instead.” _

Castiel’s eyes snapped shut and he shivered hard, bile rising in his throat. Dean hummed behind him and held him tighter, lips pressing at the nape of his neck, before giving a “shhh” of comfort as if it were second nature. Or as if he’d been doing it all night long. Castiel brought his hands to his face and rubbed hard, thinking he was embarrassed more than feeling it. He wasn’t feeling much of anything. The realization seemed to burst in his chest like a firework, shooting out to his extremities. He chewed his bottom lip, shifting, and Dean’s fist pressed harder against his sternum, just over the bursting point. Castiel breathed against it and closed his eyes.

“Cas, stop.”

The deep voice behind him, rough from lack of use but clear and awake, startled Castiel as Dean hooked his foot around Castiel’s ankle, which made Castiel realize he’d been jiggling it. Castiel froze, every muscle tensing, and Dean tensed, too. The soft gust against the back of Castiel’s neck was suddenly gone as Dean held his breath.

“You okay?”

Castiel nodded against the pillow, trying to focus on stuffing this strange panic back into the box it blew out of, but doing so only made it worse. Dean was slowly extricating himself from Castiel and Castiel bolted, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. He staggered into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a snap.

It was pitch black in the small room. Castiel fumbled a bit for the light before flicking it on, and it was like someone had drilled directly into his eye socket, a sharp pain flaming in his head. His mouth tasted like something died in it. He closed his eyes, leaning heavily on the small vanity, and bowed his head. Last night… last night was…

Castiel could vaguely smell the stench of piss and vomit coming from his clothes, still in the tub. Shifting from foot to foot, he rocked forward and back as his insides seemed to come alive, crawling and writhing. The room started to spin and he sucked in a deep breath through his nose and blew it out of his mouth slowly. The smell was foul.

Castiel opened his eyes and saw a chipped but impeccably clean sink, hygiene products lined up neatly against the wall. Toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, floss. Dean flossed? Castiel let out a spastic chuckle and had to slap his hand over his mouth to shove it back in. Dean Winchester was so perfect that he  _ flossed _ .

“Cas?” Dean’s voice floated from the other side of the wall as the sound of knuckles hitting drywall emitted from the mirror in front of him. “You okay?” A pause. “Need me to hold your hair?”

Castiel could hear the smile in his voice and rolled his eyes, snatching the mouthwash and sucking some down, swishing violently. He looked ridiculous, chipmunk cheeks with his irritated expression and bloodshot eyes. He spit, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm, and stepped out of the bathroom.

Dean was lying back on the bed, both hands folded behind his head, eyes on the ceiling and humming a song Castiel didn’t know. Dean looked up at Castiel standing wearily beside the bed and gave him a half smile.

“Mornin’ sunshine! I’d ask if you slept well, but given I had to put you in body scissor just to keep you from flailin’ off the bed, I’mma guess: no.”

Castiel reached to pinch the bridge of his nose, cringing. “I’m sorry. You should have put me on the couch.”

Dean scrunched his nose and shook his head, looking back up at the ceiling again. “Nah. Nothin’ I couldn’t handle. You’re looking at the 2012 Ozark Conference Champ for the 180 class.”

Dean made a show of flexing his biceps and Castiel snorted a laugh. His eyes couldn’t help but wander to the noticeable lump under the covers. Dean’s eyes followed and he chuckled.

“Welp.” Dean hoisted himself up, throwing back the covers quickly to stand and make for the bathroom. “Better take care of this before someone loses an eye.”

Castiel caught Dean’s wrist as he made to pass him and Dean stopped, turning his head to look across his shoulder at Castiel. Dean lifted an eyebrow, green eyes questioning and Castiel tugged his wrist, forcing Dean to turn to face him. Castiel closed the space between them, pressing his lips to Dean’s softly. Castiel peeked through his closed lids, finding Dean doing the same thing. They both smiled and leaned back.

“Cas…” Dean’s hand stuttered before he seemed to steel himself, his palm sliding down Castiel’s arm, slotting their fingers together. He stared down at their joined hands. “I’m not… you’re…” Dean sighed and lifted his gaze to meet Castiel, his eyes sorrowful. “You’re fucked up right now. We shouldn’t-”

Dean made to extract his hand but Castiel held fast, his other reaching up to cup the side of Dean’s neck, brushing his lips with Dean’s. “But I want to.”

Dean’s jaw tightened, hand stuttering against Castiel’s again. His gaze dropped back to their twined fingers, contemplative, but Castiel didn’t want him to think. Castiel’s hand tugged against Dean’s neck, pulling him into another soft kiss, as his other hand reached for the hard line of Dean’s cock in his boxers. Dean hummed, resting his forehead against Castiel’s as he let out a near-silent chuckle. Castiel was just about to ask what was so funny when Dean’s mouth crushed to his, his hands holding Castiel’s face steady as Dean ravaged his mouth.

They ended up back on the bed in a tangle of limbs, shirts impatiently discarded. Castiel’s head sunk back into Dean’s pillow while Dean pushed his boxers down before throwing a leg over Castiel’s hips, straddling him. Dean’s lips latched onto Castiel’s neck and Castiel’s moan rumbled in his chest, hands closing on Dean’s hips to pull him down onto his lap, grinding up into him. Dean’s hands planted themselves unsteadily on Castiel’s naked chest. The friction of Cas’s boxers—his boxers, Dean shivered at the realization—against the sensitive skin behind his balls, making him sweat. Castiel’s hands slid down to Dean’s ass, gripping his cheeks, pulling him apart, and Dean’s breathing shallowed as the hard line of Castiel’s cock slid roughly against his hole. Castiel moaned, pressing up against him harder, and Dean felt a shiver of panic follow the quaking pleasure of the friction at his sensitive rim.

The usual duel began in his mind, shame fighting with desire. He wanted to shuffle back, away from the pressure on his hole, but was intoxicated by the feeling, as well. Dean could feel the damp spot brush against him, the leaking of Castiel’s cock against the fabric coaxing a full-body shiver from him. When he felt Castiel’s hand close around his dick, he couldn’t help throwing his head back in a low moan, nails digging into Castiel’s chest.

Dean Winchester was the most beautiful thing Castiel had ever seen, and watching him unravel was enough to make sweat break out across Castiel’s chest. The pressure was maddening. Castiel could feel the heat of Dean’s hole through the thin cotton of his boxers; the thought of being  _ so close _ to being inside Dean was nearly enough to unman him. Reaching with his free hand, Castiel lifted his hips to shove at his boxers. Dean froze, for a moment, before he shuffled backwards, crouching down to kiss along Castiel’s neck. Castiel let out a low whine, hand reaching up to card through Dean’s hair, tugging just hard enough to tingle.

“God, Cas. Your body is… fuck.”

Castiel felt himself blush deeply, wiggling underneath Dean as the friction sent a shiver of pleasure through him. Dean’s tongue was tracing along his collarbone, calloused palms moving up and down his sides, a want tugging in his lower belly. Castiel tucked his chin to watch Dean kiss down the center of his chest. Feeling Dean’s thumbs hook in the waistband of his boxers, Castiel lifted his hips to aid him.

Castiel shivered as his length fell back against his stomach and Dean abandoned his quest to rid Castiel of his pants once they reached mid-thigh, focus entirely on the cock before him. Castiel curled an arm up behind his head, the other hand reaching for Dean’s face. Dean looked up at him, green eyes luminous in the growing dawn. Castiel felt his lips part as he watched Dean’s tongue reach out to wet his own.

“You mind if I…” Dean trailed, his eyes glancing down.

Castiel snorted a laugh, his tone dry. “If you insist.”

Dean’s face screwed up in mock regret. “I really think I do.”

Castiel really, really tried to keep his eyes open, to watch as the tip of Dean’s tongue pressed at the base of his shaft just above his balls and then flattened, licking warm and wide up his entire length. But when Dean paused near the tip, rolling his tongue hard against the bead of skin there, Castiel’s hips twitched up, a low moan rumbling in his chest that Dean echoed with a satisfied hum of his own. Castiel forced his eyes open again, watching as Dean licked his lips and pressed them in a kiss to that same spot, applying pressure and then suction that actually made Castiel yelp, the sensation sharp and overwhelming but so deliciously good.

“You… your… lips…” Castiel stuttered, his hand moving to cup the back of Dean’s neck. A flash of green eyes made him focus.

“Do  _ not _ tell me I have a pretty mouth.”

Castiel showed his palm. “Understood.”

Dean eyed him sternly before licking his lips again and Castiel had to clench his jaw because  _ fuck _ Dean had a pretty mouth. Especially when it was pressed against the tip of his cock, tongue prodding the slit. That perfect pucker would be the death of Castiel, like Dean was sucking at an imaginary straw, the barest pull of suction, the soft pressure of skin.

“Fuck, Dean,” Castiel’s arm moved from behind his head to lay over his eyes, the hand at the back of Dean’s neck applying gentle pressure.

“Sayin’ my name and I ain’t even really done anything, yet,” Dean teased, settling his body between Castiel’s legs and before Castiel could even retort Dean had sucked the head into his mouth, his hand reaching to roll Castiel’s balls.

Dean Winchester was a tease. Castiel really should have known. Dean liked to suck sweetly at the head before dropping his mouth down a fraction of an inch and then come back up. A few short bobs of his head, then he’d take Castiel just a little deeper, return to mouthing at the tip, muster up some more saliva and then go down just a bit further. By the time Dean’s nose was nestled at the soft curls at the base of Castiel’s stomach, he was a dripping mess. Dean’s hands, slick with spit, followed his mouth up and down.

“D-D-Dean,” Castiel’s voice was a warning and Dean gave what sounded like a reluctant hum as he pulled off.

Dean smacked his lips, looking at Castiel and his stomach bottomed out, pupils dilating at finding Cas red-faced and undone with pleasure. Dean surged back up to kiss Castiel hard on the mouth.

Castiel struggled to sit up, grappling for any part of Dean, and their mouths met in a fiery kiss. Dean was back to kneeling, with his knees on either side of Castiel’s thighs; Castiel’s hands gripping his hips, urging him down. The first dry slide of Castiel’s velvet length between his cheeks nearly sent Dean over the edge. Castiel let a hand run over the breadth of Dean’s shoulder then down his chest, feeling muscles flex all the way down his stomach, before Castiel gripped his ass and pulled Dean tighter against him. The head of Castiel’s cock snagged at Dean’s entrance, the ridge adding a burst of stimulation that sent a shock of panic instead of pleasure.

“Uh, Cas, just so you know, I’m… I’m…” Dean swallowed hard as Castiel’s blue eyes pinned him, intense in their effort to focus on what Dean was saying. “more of a pitcher.”

Castiel blinked, watching Dean reach up to tug at his ear, chest and cheeks flushed in a blush. “P-pitcher?” Dean gave him an urging look and Castiel jolted, suddenly catching his meaning. “Oh… right. Sports metaphor. I…” he huffed a sigh as Dean lifted onto his knees. Castiel chuckled darkly, his head falling back against the headboard. “Of course you are.”

“What’s  _ that _ supposed to mean?” Dean reached to twist one of Castiel’s nipples and he arched away from the assault.

Castiel sighed, a hand coming up to cup Dean’s cheek and Dean jerked his head away at first before he relaxed into it and Castiel smiled. “Aren’t you just a little curious?”

Castiel watched Dean’s eyes unfocus as Castiel’s thumb rubbed over Dean’s full bottom lip. “C-c-curious?”

Castiel hummed. “What it feels like. If it’s really as good as they make it out to be.” Castiel slipped his thumb between Dean’s lips and he accepted it, tongue reaching to flick against the tip before flattening it against the pad. Castiel’s cock lifted from his stomach and settled again.

Dean’s eyes focused suddenly, hand going to Castiel’s wrist to pull his thumb from his mouth. “They?” Dean’s eyes narrowed. “You’re… you’re…”

Castiel let the silence stretch and Dean cleared his throat, looking towards the window. Castiel smirked, running his thumb over the stubble on Dean’s chin, drawing his eyes back. “I’m vers.” Dean blinked. “Versatile. I like both.”

Dean’s pupils dilated and Castiel watched his dick give an interested twitch. “So you…”

“Only do that with people I trust.”

Dean’s lips curled in a smooth grin, leaning to plant his hands on the headboard on either side of Castiel’s head. He lowered his head to look into Castiel’s eyes. “Do you trust  _ me _ ?”

“Absolutely not.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on.” He shifted back and Castiel held his breath as he hovered over Castiel’s aching cock, feeling only slightly disappointed when Dean settled back on Castiel’s thighs. “I am extremely-“ Dean picked up Castiel’s hand and kissed each finger tip. “Extremely trustworthy.”

“Is that so?” Castiel murmured, watching Dean’s tongue snake out around his forefinger, revealing his teeth in a grin as he bit gently at the tip.

“MmmHmmm” Castiel felt the hum in the pit of his stomach, dick straining. God he wanted Dean to touch him. “I was a Boy Scout.”

Castiel’s laugh surprised even him, his head tipping back against the headboard, exposing the long column of his neck to Dean who surged forward, hands planting on the headboard again as he rocked into Castiel. Castiel’s mouth fell open in a low moan as Dean’s lips attached to his pulse point, his dick dragging against Castiel’s. He couldn’t stand it anymore. Castiel reached between them, fist closing around Dean’s cock, velvet stretched over steel. Dean let out a shaky sigh.

“Yours, too,” Dean mumbled, dipping to press his lips to Castiel’s and Castiel obliged, gathering his cock with Dean’s, stroking them together slow.

Dean’s head fell back with a low groan. “Fuck.” He huffed out a breath before he looked forward again then leaned over grappling at his bedside table. “Lube.”

Dean flicked the cap up with his thumb and Castiel enjoyed watching his face, the little peek of his tongue as he turned the bottle over and drizzled it over Castiel’s hand and their dicks, breath hitching when Castiel began to stroke, slicking them both up.

“Fuck yes,” Dean mumbled, tossing the bottle aside and replanting his hands on the headboard, dropping his forehead to press against Castiel’s.

Dean was slightly above him, requiring Castiel to look up to see his face, watch his eyes sink closed and his lips part. Castiel licked his own lips and he switched hands, reaching behind Dean’s balls to circle his hole. Dean’s breathing hitched, the muscle under Castiel’s finger tightening.

“Do you want me to stop?” Castiel asked, breathlessly, the pad of his finger rubbing softly. Looking up to watch Dean’s face, Castiel saw his cheek twitch, pressing his lips together. Castiel nudged Dean’s nose with his, “It’s okay to say no.”

Dean’s forehead clunked against Castiel’s, face screwed up in annoyance. “Don’t make me ask for it, dude. Just…” Dean groaned.

Castiel fought a roll of his eyes, biting his lip on a chuckle. “Fine, but don’t call me  _ dude _ in bed.”

Dean snorted, looking down at Castiel, “No problem, brah.”

The sharp smack, along with Dean’s accompanying yelp, echoed in the small room and Castiel soothed the welt he’d left with a soft circular motion before his fingers slipped between Dean’s cheeks again.

“You’re infuriating, Dean Winchester,” Castiel muttered, his voice a mere rumble and Dean shivered over him, dick twitching against Castiel’s.

“Fuck.”

Castiel let out a startled laugh then dropped his voice, letting his vocal cords grate against each other as he worked his finger in wide circles. “You frustrate me. On a near-daily basis. You have no right to take over my brain all day, the way you do.”

Dean’s hole spasmed under Castiel’s touch, Castiel letting those circles grow smaller and tighter, only to widen after the slightest direct pressure. Castiel heard Dean’s fingernails bite into the wood of the headboard right next to his ears, his head hanging forward.

“You think about me? All day?”

Castiel hummed, the pad of his finger dragging around Dean’s hole at a maidenly slow pace, feeling the muscle flutter from the friction. “Maybe.” The pad of Castiel’s finger swirled from the center outward, stretching Dean’s rim without entering. “Would that surprise you?”

Dean made a disgruntled sound that shifted into a moan, his hole opening as one fingertip hooked inside and teased him wider.

“I think about you, too,” he breathed, the gust warm against Castiel’s lips and Castiel craned his neck to steal a kiss, soft and almost chaste.

“Then you know how distracting it is, to think about doing this.”

Dean’s forehead thunked against Castiel’s, his breath fanning Castiel’s face, and Castiel was content to watch as he slipped in the tip of another finger, scissoring gently at Dean’s rim before retreating. The first finger slipped in further, enough to where Dean’s ass dragged it in on its own. Dean groaned again, thighs starting to tremble.

“I think about finding your spot. Here?” Castiel rumbled, prodding gently and Dean’s nod moved both their heads, drawing a grin from Castiel. “The last time I did this, when I had your dick in my mouth-“ Dean’s ass clenched and his cock jerked. “-Do you remember what happened when I,” Castiel felt the tip of his finger brush against the fleshy bulb and applied pressure, “did this?”

“Fuck, Cas! Shit, I’m gonna come. You can’t. God, you can’t do tha- oh fuck, fuck fuck.”

Castiel felt Dean’s ass clench down, his prostate pulsing against the pad of his finger. Dean’s eyes rolling back in his head made Castiel’s hand on them quicken, suddenly desperate to come at the feel of Dean’s dick dribbling pre-cum in a steady flow. Dean shook and shuddered over him, rocking gently into Castiel’s fist and back into his hand, mouth open in a silent scream.

Castiel watched Dean’s eyelids flutter, breath stuttering past his dry lips, as Castiel stroked them firm and quick. Dean’s couldn’t stop trembling, eyes a little confused as he looked down at Castiel’s hand moving over his dick. Hazy eyes met Castiel’s, again, and the corner of Castiel’s lips quirked up in a triumphant smirk. Dean’s eyes flashed and he knocked Castiel’s hand away, rocking back into the thrust of his finger and pushing forward against Castiel’s dick, grinding down on him hard. The sensation was unbelievable.

Castiel’s hand slipped from between Dean’s legs. With both now on Dean’s hips, Castiel coaxed him harder and watched as their cocks slotted together, slick with lube and precum between their bellies. Dean’s hands, still planted on the headboard, shoved his body back, giving him leverage to thrust harder against Castiel.

“Fuck, Cas, tell me you’re gonna come,” Dean whined, his forehead grinding against Castiel’s. One look at Dean’s face was all he needed, eyes squeezed shut and teeth gritted in intense pleasure.

“Don’t stop,” Castiel intoned, his voice so low it was almost inaudible, a mere vibration. “Keep fucking me, Dean, just like that. Yes, fuck, you feel so good, I’m going to… God, I’m gonna c-“ Castiel’s throat closed before he could get the word out, every ounce of strength going directly to his groin as his vision whited out, semen splashing against his and Dean’s bellies.

Dean rutted through Castiel’s orgasm, his whines of pleasure becoming more and more desperate, until one hand clutched the back of Castiel’s head, pulling his face into Dean’s neck and he came between them, three hot pulses mixing with the mess of Castiel’s orgasm.

Dean’s arms gave out almost instantly, the hand against the headboard sliding as his elbow folded to land on Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel received him with open arms and a chuckle as Dean’s head thunked against the wood above them, accepting the weight of his shaking body with relish. Castiel ran a hand down Dean’s back, gathering sweat, and let his fingers tease the slight dip at the base of his spine. Turning his head to press his lips to Dean’s racing pulse point, Castiel lifted the arm circling him to delve a hand into Dean’s sweaty hair. They were a wet, dirty mess but Castiel couldn’t be compelled to care.

“Fuck, dude.” Dean heaved, shifting so that his forehead rested atop Castiel’s while Castiel peered up at him.

“Again with the  _ dude _ ?” Castiel reached to twist Dean’s nipple and Dean jumped, wiggling away from the assault.

“Shuddap.” Dean’s mouth pressed hard to Castiel’s hands as they came up to cup Dean’s face, holding him in place so they could ravage each other’s mouths.

When the kiss waned from a blaze to a mere smolder, Castiel’s hands began to wander—up and down Dean’s sides, over his hips, fingers spreading over his thighs— and he lowered his head to look his fill. He stroked the wiry hair over Dean’s quads, felt his soft cock resting against Castiel’s navel. Dean’s nose pressed into the top of Castiel’s head and Castiel felt him inhale deeply, breathing him in. Dean pressed a kiss there and slid off Castiel’s lap, bonelessly, with a lithe grace no one in their condition had the right to possess.

They were silent, then, the room now full of light. Dean wiggled himself down under the covers, Castiel curling up to do the same. They laid on their sides, facing each other, arms curled between them so that their wrists and elbows touched. Dean’s eyes were closed, face smooth and relaxed. Castiel just stared, memorizing the constellation of freckles on his nose. Castiel let his hands gently curl around one of Dean’s and Dean let him hold it, examining the fingernails, permanently stained gray. The knuckle of his middle finger was busted open, scabbed with dried blood. The others were red and irritated, but the skin hadn’t broken. Castiel placed a kiss to the flat of Dean’s fist, just under the injury, and Dean shifted, pulling his hand away to roll onto his back.

“What happens now?” Castiel asked after a moment. Dean stretched his arms over his head, pressing his palms against the headboard and pulling his body long and tight.

He sighed as his body went limp against the mattress again. “Take you back to pick up the Monte, I guess.” Dean stifled a yawn.

“No, I mean… to me. Do… Do I file a police report?”

Dean’s body stiffened. “No. No, don’t. We don’t…” Dean cleared his throat. “We don’t do that here. You… just… you just trade beatings. It’s…” Dean snorted. “Well, it’s archaic, but-”

“It’s Lebanon.”

Dean smiled sadly at him. “Yeah, it’s Lebanon.”

“Are they…” Castiel’s throat closed and he had to swallow hard. He looked down at his hands on the covers and picked at his fingernails. He could feel Dean’s eyes on the side of his face. “Are they going to… try… again?”

The bed shifted as Dean hoisted himself up onto an elbow, his other hand going to Castiel’s opposite shoulder and tugging. Castiel rolled into Dean’s arms, pressing his face hard to Dean’s chest as he wrapped an arm around Castiel’s shoulder and buried a hand in his hair. Dean’s stubble scratched against Castiel’s forehead as Dean pressed his cheek against him and sighed.

“No. I told you. No one’s gonna touch you again. They try, they won’t live to see their lungs hit the wall behind them.”

Castiel shivered. “That’s very graphic.”

“Well, I find painting a picture gets my point across better.” Castiel could feel Dean’s smile.

“What… what about you?”

Dean’s chin tipped down to look at him. “What about me?”

“Well, you… you came to my defense…”

Dean blinked. “Yeah…”

“Doesn’t that… you said that…” Castiel reached up to rub his forehead. “Before, with the op-ed, you were concerned because you’d been hanging out with me-”

“Oh, uh, yeah. I, uh… well, don’t worry about that.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “You seemed very concerned before-”

“Well, I ain’t now.” Dean’s voice was curt as he rolled away, folding his arms behind his head.

Castiel lifted up on an elbow, looking down at him. “And why is that?”

Dean looked up at him, lips pursed. “Don’t make me say it, Cas.”

Castiel’s brows creased. “I’m sorry I-”

“Because I’m not gay!” Dean reached up and rubbed his face hard before sitting up. He spun and his feet hit the floor with a thump.

“O-kay,” Castiel drew the word out slowly, taking in the tense line of Dean’s shoulders as he sat hunched over.

“I’m not.” Dean’s head turned to look at him and Castiel saw the seriousness on his face along with the anxiety that swam in his green eyes. “I… I been seeing this girl.”

Castiel swallowed hard but the lump in his throat wouldn’t budge. “I see.”

Dean hung his head. “Yeah.”

The silence was deafening, Castiel feeling each beat of his heart as if it were a bullet wound. This,  _ this _ , was why he didn’t get involved with closeted guys. This horrible, fucked up pain in his chest, the intense longing, he couldn’t fucking stand it. Castiel threw the blankets back, suddenly disgusted by feeling Dean all around him, all over him and now desperate to get as far away from him as possible. The fact that the boxers he was pulling up his legs were Dean’s did nothing to help the situation.

“I’m gonna call a cab.” Castiel stood, adjusting the waist band and looking around the room. “Fuck, where’s my phone?”

Castiel stomped into the bathroom, groaning at the smell of his wadded-up clothes at the back of the bathtub. He managed to extract his phone from the back pocket of his jeans.

“Don’t do that.”

“Can you get me a trash bag?” Castiel asked as he attempted to lift the dripping wad of fabric.

“Yeah, sure.”

Castiel dialed the cab company, requesting a pick up, and Dean returned with a black plastic bag just as they asked for the address. “Uh… “ Castiel glanced up at Dean. “Address?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Tell ‘em John Winchester’s place.” He crossed his arms and pursed his lips.

Castiel’s brows creased. “John Winchester’s place?” He blinked in surprise as the voice said they’d be there in five minutes and hung up. Castiel looked at the phone. “Wow.”

“Yeah. Perks of living over the town drunk’s garage.” Dean handed over the bag and then a wad of clothes.

Castiel took them both, not meeting his eyes, and shoved his clothes in the bag before grabbing up his shoes. When he moved to step out of the bathroom Dean didn’t budge, holding onto the door jamb. Castiel waited him out and eventually he sighed and stepped back, allowing Castiel to pass.

“It really is no problem for me to take you to get the Monte.”

“I’ll be fine.” Castiel dropped his shoes on the floor, and began pulling on a worn pair of jeans and a soft t-shirt. It was the Led Zeppelin tee Dean wore the night they went to the bar in Hastings. Castiel suddenly felt sick. “I’ll return your clothes.”

“Cas-”

“Thanks for your help last night. Sorry for… everything.”

“Cas!” Dean’s hand closed around Castiel’s bicep and Castiel looked up at him, finding Dean’s face pained. “We… look we just gotta wait for all this to die down, okay? Then we can… you know…” Dean rubbed his arm in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture.

Castiel’s face screwed up. “Fuck in a car and pretend to be-“ Castiel made air quotes, “ _ just friends _ .”

Dean’s jaw clenched, his eyes going hard, his finger jabbing at Castiel. “Hey, we are  _ best _ friends.”

“I got enough friends, Dean.” Castiel’s face was sardonic and Dean’s shifted to mimic his.

“Do you, really?”

Castiel scowled at him. “Fuck you.”

Dean gave a cocky shrug. “Give it a few months and I’ll let you.” The smile slid off Dean’s face, barely catching Castiel’s wounded eyes before he turned away. “Hey… shit. Cas, I’m-“

“Just stay away from me!” Castiel exclaimed, grabbing up his bag and reaching for the door. “Good luck with your  _ girlfriend _ .”

Dean could only watch as Castiel slammed the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
> 
> [Visit me on Tumblr](https://deanwinchesterfirstofhisname.tumblr.com)   
> 


	16. Moving On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel makes good on his promise but once the Buick is done Dean reminds him of another promise he made. Howard might end up throwing a wrench in the works anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: mild homophobia, description of bodily fluid, graphic depiction of sex acts, oral sex, anal fingering, anal sex

Winter clung to Lebanon like Dean clung to Rhonda Hurley during their stilted, month-long courtship, miserable but unwilling to let go. Castiel tried not to watch and focused on minding his own business, with his own companions, on the other side of the bar, safe under Jo Harvelle’s watchful eye. 

Thankfully, Harvelle’s was _his_ bar, now, not just “the bar he drank at with Dean.” Castiel would never forget the night he started believing it: one of his first visits after that night, he’d been sitting at the bar when his vision had suddenly tunnelled to a pinpoint as a gruff voice from behind his ear took him back to that bathroom, pinned against a urinal. _We don’t want fags in our bar_ . It was followed by a tell-tale _chuck-chuck_ that broke through the flashback. There hadn’t been a shotgun… Castiel blinked and looked up to find the barrel extending over his shoulder, Jo looking down the sight line at the man behind him. _We don’t want redneck morons in our bar, but we just have to get over it. So will you. Or I’ll turn you into a sieve._

No one messed with him after that, though he looked over his shoulder a lot more and kept his head down. As January slushed into February, gray and bitter cold, Castiel shuffled through the days on autopilot, a pall hanging heavy on his heart. He hated this part, waiting out the hurt, reminding himself over and over that it never lasted forever, no matter how much it felt like it would. of course, Dean somehow managing to pop up whenever he thought he’d just about gotten over it was not helping matters.

#

#

#

#

#

It was the first clear day in weeks when Dean left a message on Howard’s answering machine. _This is Dean Winchester from Singer Salvage and Auto. Just wanted to let Mr. Novak know: your car is ready to pick up at your convenience._ There was a pause, as if he might say more. Castiel held his breath, finger poised over the button, but all he heard was Dean’s audible huff before the message cut out.

“Who’sit-“ Howard had shuffled up behind him. Castiel whipped around, steadying the old man with both hands as he launched into a coughing fit that wracked his body so hard Castiel was worried he was going to shake himself out of Castiel’s grip.

Howard resisted feebly as Castiel maneuvered him back over to his chair by the window, the coughing finally subsiding with Howard launching a bloody glob of mucus into a tissue then promptly trying to hide it from Castiel. Castiel rewarded his dishonesty with a breathing treatment that Howard scowled through.

It had been a hard winter for the both of them, Howard battling a series of colds that seemed to get worse with every reintroduction to his system. Coughing spells lasted longer, often with bloody ends, and he’d been breathing with a mask at night to keep his oxygen levels up. Christmas and New Years had come and gone without fanfare, Howard spending much of Christmas day on the phone with his other sons and grandchildren, On New Years’ Eve, Castiel was rewarded with a selfie of Dean and Rhonda kissing at the top of his feed and he sincerely hoped he wasn’t going to spend the rest of his year miserably watching the two of them play happy couple. 

Anna and Meg had become household staples, offering in-home care for a mere pittance while Castiel was working. No matter how hard Castiel tried to get them to take more, they refused. People looked out for each other in Lebanon, they told him. Castiel knew this, of course. It was something Dean had said to him often.

“Are you ever going to pick up that car?” Howard asked a few days later, as Castiel gathered his things for work while Anna sat in the chair opposite him.

Castiel looked out the window at the gray sky outside. February was coming back full force to strangle what little warmth had tried to seep in earlier in the week. He glanced at his watch. “I don’t think I have time before my shift.”

Howard huffed, turning his sour face to Anna, who gave him a patient smile. “Of course. You’re extremely busy. I understand.” Howard lowered his voice, but not enough that Castiel couldn’t hear it. “Paid a fortune for it, just to sit in the back of Singer’s lot with the rest of the junkers.”

Castiel glared at the back of his father’s head. “Glad to see you’re feeling more like yourself today, Dad.”

“Now, if you two are gonna fuss, I’ll just take my leave,” Anna chided, patting Howard’s hand gently, She leveled her gaze on Castiel, who wasn’t at all annoyed that his friend was taking his father’s side, or so he told himself.“You really should pick up the car. I want to see it.”

“Oh, well in _that_ case…” Castiel’s voice dripped with sarcasm as he slipped on his trench coat, adjusting the collar.

“You know your shift doesn’t start until 4 today.”Anna gave him a tight-lipped smirk as he looked up at her, betrayed. “Don’t you want to get rid of the Monte?”

Ultimately, Castiel’s desire to rid himself of the hell-car outweighed his nerves at meeting up with Dean again. Or that’s what he told himself, despite the way his heart hammered against his ribs as he pulled up to Singer Salvage and Auto, pausing for oncoming traffic to make the left-hand turn into the lot. Dean leaned against the grill of a large F150 in an open bay. His face was stony as a woman—familiar, but Castiel wasn’t sure of her name—babbled next to him, her own arms crossed. Castiel would have kept driving if Dean hadn’t pushed himself from the bumper and begun to walk out in anticipation of Castiel turning in.

Castiel couldn’t hear what Dean shouted over his shoulder at the woman, the engine too loud, but the look on her face was enough to let Castiel know she was not pleased. Castiel killed the engine and pulled himself out of the car, leery as Dean approached, the tense line of his shoulders at odds with the smile on his face.

“‘Ey, Cas. Bet I know what you’re here for!”

Castiel bristled as Dean extended his hand, the knowing look on the other man’s face sending a pulse of adrenaline scalding through his veins. Castiel took it but his eyes moved over Dean’s shoulder. “What’d you do to that one?”

Dean’s brows drew together for a moment before he looked over his shoulder. It seemed as if he’d forgotten all about the woman who was still standing, arms crossed and livid, back in the bay. Dean’s face, when he turned back to Castiel, was unamused, and he jerked his hand back. Castiel fought the urge to smile meanly.

“Dumped her best friend.”

Castiel’s eyes widened. “You… and Rhonda?”

Dean sighed, impatient. “I told you it wasn’t gonna last long. Not my fault you don’t listen.” Dean started to walk away, towards the end of the lot. He glanced over his shoulder. “The Buick, which I assume is why you’re here, is ‘round back.”

Castiel followed Dean around the side of the garage, taking the familiar dirt path, and concentrated on why he was mad at Dean in the first place. Why it was absolutely the right decision to stay away from him and not become distracted by the breadth of Dean’s shoulders, the muscles pressing against his black tee, the bump of his ass that was visible even under the baggy jumpsuit, arms tied around his waist. Castiel knew what was best for himself, for them both. He went back to that morning at Dean’s apartment in his mind and remembered the hurt and humiliation. His resolve hardened. He had to stay away from Dean Winchester.

The car wasn’t in its usual spot; the back workspace was empty of parts. It was strange, too clean, a testament to how much time had passed since Castiel had been there. Dean led him further around the back, to an open space among the lines of junk cars. Castiel was surprised, though he supposed he shouldn’t have been, to see nothing but a car-shaped lump under a tarp. He heard Dean chuckle.

“Yeah, okay. So I wanted a bit of a dramatic reveal. Sue me.”

Castiel’s eyes met Dean’s and no amount of hurt or bitterness stood a chance against a bonafide Dean Winchester grin, excitement and anticipation making his green eyes luminous. Castiel smiled back and though he never would have thought it possible, Dean’s own smile widened.

“Okay, uh, stay here. Don’t move.” Dean pumped his hands at Castiel before he scurried over to the tarp, pausing to look at both ends as if deciding which to pull for the best dramatic effect. He looked over his shoulder. “Ready?”

Castiel nodded, sinking his hands into the pockets of his trench coat while tracking the mechanic’s movements as he hurried to the back of the car and gripped a handful of the heavy fabric. He paused, eyes finding Castiel’s, before taking a large breath and pulling hard. Dean’s body turned with the force of his pull, revealing the snow-white coupe with a black, full-body stripe lined in red.

To Castiel it was still nothing more than a car, just better looking than he’d ever seen it, but he could understand how a real gearhead would be undone by it. Castiel was currently trying to talk himself out of being undone by Dean’s radiant joy while walking him around the car. Dean babbled about the changes and the process, though Castiel didn’t hear much of it, just the dulcet tone of his voice. Dean cranked the engine then opened up the hood, hollering specs at him over the loud rumble of the V8, but Castiel was entranced by the mechanic’s hands, strong and capable with thick fingers and neatly trimmed nails.

“Honestly, man, I’m gonna miss working on this car,” Dean concluded, dropping the hood and dulling the rumble of the engine down to a purr.

“I’ll make sure to bring her by for regular tune-ups.”

The words were out before Castiel even thought about them. Dean’s head snapped to look at him, astonished for a moment before a radiant grin broke across his face. He clapped Castiel hard on the shoulder.

“Yeah, and we’ve got the car show in Wichita next month,” Dean shook his finger at Castiel, “don’t forget.” Castiel had forgotten about that and Dean’s smile fell. “Oh, man, come on! I already registered. Don’t bail on me now!”

“No, no. I’m… it’s fine. I’ll honor the commitment.”

Dean sighed, his hand flicking out to nudge Castiel’s wrist. “I… I don’t really know-”

“Don’t worry about it.” Castiel sighed, rubbing his forehead. When he opened his eyes again, Dean was peering at him uncertainly. “I’m not going to change you.” Dean’s eyebrows rose and Castiel was quick to clarify. “I’m not _trying_ to change you. I just-“ Castiel huffed out a breath. “I wish things were different.”

Castiel cringed, feeling lame at the confession. He wished things were different? What was this, an episode of Dr. Sexy? Dean’s hand brushed the back of his, then fluttered as if he was waffling on whether to take it, hold it. He ultimately pulled back with an uncomfortable sigh, looking at his shoes.

“For what it’s worth…” Dean reached up and tugged on his ear. “Me, too.”

They snuck glances at each other, shifting from foot to foot awkwardly, before Dean finally cleared his throat and clapped Castiel hard on the shoulder.

“Come on, let’s do the paperwork. You’re gonna be late for work.”

Dean moved away and Castiel followed, allowing himself one moment to mourn the loss.

#

The Sunday before the car show, Howard slipped in the shower, but by some miracle he managed not to break anything. He was bruised and crabby, Castiel took it as a good sign that his father was feeling well enough to still be a pain in his ass. As the weekend drew near, Castiel began to question whether or not he could justify leaving the old man on his own. It was only three nights, but also four full days, because Dean wanted to leave near dawn on Thursday and stay until at least early evening on Sunday.

Castiel stood at the end of his bed, chewing his bottom lip as his thumb hovered over Dean’s number. He’d been looking forward to going to Wichita, to being out of this tiny, suffocating town, and—if he was to be completely honest with himself—to being with Dean. They’d managed to cobble together a kind of friendship, though lust dotted the rocky terrain of their relationship like landmines. They’d only made out once, in the back of the Buick, after their standing 2 am diner appointment, but Castiel had gotten ahold of himself and Dean had backed off immediately despite the fact that it was clearly the last thing he wanted to do.

Castiel shook his head and hit Dean’s number. A few rings and then, “‘ey, Cas! You’re up early.”

Castiel glanced at the clock on his bedside table. He’d only slept four hours. “Yeah, uh, Dean, I…”

“What’s wrong?” Dean’s voice was gruff, and Castiel could imagine him sitting up in bed, leaning forward, eyebrows drawn.

“Nothing.” Castiel sighed, ruffling his already disheveled hair. “Nothing. I just… Howard fell earlier this week-”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Yeah, and-“ Castiel frowned. “How did you know?”

“Jo told me.”

“How did Jo know?”

“I think Kevin told her.”

“Kevin wasn’t even _on shift_ when-”

“Cas, do you really wanna unravel the mystery thread of small town gossip, or-”

“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.” Castiel sighed again and rubbed his face.

“You sound beat, man.” Dean’s voice was soft and Castiel shook his head, placing his hand on his hip.

“No, I’m fine. I just… I don’t think I’m going to be able to go to the car show with you this weekend.”

The line was silent for a moment. “O-oh.”

Castiel heaved a sigh and began to pace. “I’m sorry. Howard was doing so much better and we all thought that he would be fine for a few days. Some of his old parishioners were going to pop in and check on him, since Meg and Anna are in Cabo-”

Dean snorted. “Meg and Anna went to _Cabo_ together?”

Castiel paused, spinning the loose bedknob at the end of the white iron frame. “Kevin went, too.”

Dean gave an amused huff. “Well, good for them, I guess.”

“You’re welcome to come pick up the Buick. Or I could maybe drop it off during Howard’s nap. I’m not sure how much work you were going to do on it. You might get it faster if you-”

“Yeah, I’ll swing by.” Dean’s voice was pulled from the back of his throat as if he were pulling himself out of bed. “I got a few things to do at the garage first.”

“N-no rush. Obviously.” Castiel let out a small chuckle and then slapped himself on the forehead because _obviously_.

Dean seemed charmed, however. “Yeah, yeah. I miss you too, buttercup. See you later.” The line went dead.

Castiel was just getting Howard settled in his chair following his afternoon nap when the distinct sound of a V8 engine rumbled down the street. Both men stopped their fussing with each other and looked up to see the Impala, sleek and shining, pull into the grass next to the Buick. Castiel watched Dean climb out, aviators glinting in the March sun. He glanced over the hood at the Buick as he started towards the house, then did a double-take and immediately changed course, stomping over to the white car.

Castiel jumped as Dean turned to the widow and gestured down at the mud splattered on the fenders, his shout of “Really?!?” muffled through the glass. Castiel pursed his lips and Howard let out a hacking cough that Castiel was sure had been a laugh.

“Told you to wash that off,” Howard muttered and Castiel fought the urge to grumble as he tucked the afghan around his father’s legs. Howard wiggled impetuously. “Get off’a me, boy!”

Castiel showed his palms and went to the front door, grabbed the keys from the hook and opened the door. He was expecting Dean to be there, but the small stoop was empty. Castiel leaned his head out and found Dean rummaging around in the trunk of the Impala, the clink of tools moving around inside a tool box carrying on the spring breeze. Castiel’s brow’s furrowed, letting the screen door slam behind him as he trotted down the steps barefoot.

“What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” Dean’s eyes flicked up from the tools in his hands to Castiel’s chest and back again.

“I honestly have no idea.”

Dean laughed, his eyes meeting Castiel’s and then dropping to his chest again, before clearing his throat as he fiddled with the sockets in his hands. “That’s my shirt.”

Castiel’s eyes widened, looking down. He was indeed wearing the Led Zeppelin shirt Dean had thrown at him the morning after he’d stayed at Dean’s place. Castiel felt his cheeks blaze and refused to look at Dean. He could feel the other man eyeing him, grinning no doubt. Dean gave a soft huff of a laugh and turned his hand, reaching out to pat Castiel’s chest as he turned away.

“Keep it. Looks better on you, anyway.”

Castiel scowled at the smirk Dean threw over his shoulder.

After the fourth time Howard had thumped the bottom of his cane against the window, yelling something at Dean that neither could understand, Castiel begrudgingly brought the old man outside, with Dean helping him pack Howard up in a camp chair.

“Would you stop? Feel like a darn burrito,” Howard groused and Dean laughed hard.

Castiel was unamused. “Don’t encourage him.”

“I think your dad’s funny.”

“Give it time.”

“I’m sittin’ right here, ya know?”

Dean grinned as he walked back over to the open hood of the Buick, twisting another head on the socket. “‘Course, Mr. Novak. I’ll be outta your hair here, soon. Just gonna tune ‘er up and wash ‘er down.”

“Didn’t know restoration came with lifetime maintenance,” Howard mused, pushing his teeth against his gums, and Castiel sighed.

“It’s for the Car Show this weekend.”

Howard twisted in his seat, squinting up at Castiel. “Car show? What car show?”

Dean had just ducked under the hood and he rested his hands on the frame, looking over his shoulder. “You didn’t even tell him about the show?”

Castiel looked between the two of them, eyes wide. “Well, I didn’t think it would-”

Dean sighed, shuffling over to where his tool box sat on the ground, shoulder brushing Castiel’s chest on the way. “You know, you could have just said no. You didn’t have to lie.”

“I didn’t l-” Castiel looked over at Howard, who was watching them both with mild interest. Castiel took the few steps closer to where Dean was crouched in front of the tool box, digging around. “I didn’t lie. I wanted to go. I would go, if I could.”

Dean peered up at him, one eye squinted closed against the sun, as Howard asked, “Why can’t you?”

Castiel heaved a sigh, glaring at Howard as Dean stood to full height again, sorting the tools in his hands. Castiel thought he heard Dean chuckle under his breath.

“You know why, Dad.”

“Don’t know how I would, considering I didn’t even _know_ you were entering her.” Howard crossed his arms over his chest and the piercing look in his eyes made Castiel shift from foot to foot.

“Anna and Meg are out of town, and-”

“Ah,” Howard lifted a hand to cut him off. “And you can use me as an excuse to pull out.”

“No!” Castiel insisted, his eyes indignant, and Dean did laugh this time at the break in Castiel’s voice. “No, I wanted to go.”

“Then go.” Howard brought his water glass to his lips, hand shaking.

Castiel stepped forward to steady Howard’s wrist and guide the straw to his mouth. Howard slapped at him with his free hand. Castiel huffed. “You know you can’t be on your own for three nights.”

“I most certainly can.”

Castiel sucked in a calming breath, closing his eyes and counting to ten. “Dad, you almost broke your hip last week-”

“And you were right outside the door. So clearly your presence makes no difference.”

A timely squeal from the Buick’s engine masked what was clearly a laugh from Dean. Castiel scowled at his back. “Dad-”

“You’re going. If there’s one thing I know I taught you, it’s that we honor our commitments. There are plenty of people who can come in and check on me, even if I _don’t_ need it, if that gives you peace of mind.” Castiel shifted uncomfortably. “Unless it _is_ just an excuse-”

“No! Nope, fine. If that’s what you want, then-“ Castiel threw his hands in the air and shook his head, “then fine.”

Castiel squawked when he felt Dean clap him on the shoulder. “Hell, yeah! Road trip!” Dean offered up his fist, which Castiel grumpily bumped with his own, accompanied by a roll of his eyes. “Why don’t you go grab us a few beers to celebrate?” Dean gave Castiel a single pat on the butt, chummy and natural in the way straight men do. Castiel glared at him. Dean shot him a grin back before turning to the engine once again. “Mr. Novak, you remember the day you got this car?”

Castiel spent the next several hours bored out of his mind as Dean and Howard talked cars while he handed Dean tools and replaced empty bottles with full ones. Together they killed the six pack Castiel had in the fridge, Howard content with his water and the conversation. Castiel had almost let his guard down, leaning against the front fender as Dean fiddled under the hood.

“Cas, grab me a flare nut, will you?”

Castiel’s beer was at his lips when he paused. “Excuse me?”

“A fl-“ Dean cut himself off at the blank look on Castiel’s face. He sighed. “Here, I’ll-“

“You don’t know the difference between a standard wrench and a flare nut?” Howard huffed as Dean picked up both to show Castiel how they differed. “How’d you pass shop class?”

“By not taking it,” Castiel muttered. Howard squawked and Dean grinned at Castiel, whose lips turned up in a small smile.

“What’d you take instead?” Dean asked, turning back to the engine and Castiel squared his shoulders, opening his mouth.

“Probably home-ec, with all the other girls,” Howard muttered and Castiel’s mouth snapped shut, glaring hotly at Howard.

“Actually, it was micro-biology. I graduated a year early, by the way. With honors.”

“So did Michael.” Howard gave a deep nod and Castiel rolled his eyes.

It was then that Castiel noticed how Dean’s entire body had tensed, arms locked against his frame, head turned to the side, hands balled into fists. Castiel waited for him to turn, but Dean stared, unseeing, at the underside of the hood for a moment before his flat gaze met Castiel’s. Rage simmered there, mixed with sympathy and a little shame. Castiel shook his head, hand reaching to cover Dean’s, but he stepped back, reaching for the wrenches in Castiel’s hands and shuffling the different sizes.

“Cas, what’s the difference between an artery and a blood vessel?”

“An artery _is_ a blood vessel.” Dean blinked up at him and then his face shifted to unamused. “ _What?_ It is.”

“Alright, I’m nearly done here. We’re gonna wash and wax ‘er before the sun goes down.” Dean gestured to Howard. “Take him inside; I don’t trust you not to turn the hose on him if he gets too mouthy.”

“Who’s to say I won’t turn the hose on _you_ , young man?” Howard snapped back and Dean laughed heartily. Castiel thought he saw the corners of Howard’s mouth twitch.

Castiel got Howard settled in the window again before heading back out to help Dean with the hose. They got the radio up in the Impala, Dean playing air drums as Creedence Clearwater Revival warned of a Bad Moon Rising while Castiel mixed soap in a bucket. Castiel was banished back into the house quickly, however, Dean claiming he was “doing it wrong” though Castiel wasn’t sure how. Dean gave him a squirt with the hose on his way back, making him practically jump out of his skin. Dean nearly fell over laughing, and Castiel flipped him off when he was sure he’d cleared Howard’s line of sight.

#

Castiel checked on Howard, helping him to the bathroom and then depositing him at the kitchen table to take his blood pressure, check his heart, and dole out his evening medications. They didn’t speak as Castiel began poking around the kitchen, trying to figure out what to do for dinner.

“You spend a lot of time with the Winchester boy.”

Castiel hummed, checking how many potatoes they had.

“How’s his daddy feel about that?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Castiel murmured, pulling out an onion and a few green peppers. They were quiet for a moment.

“When he turn homa’sexual?”

Castiel nearly dropped the container of salt in his hand. He blinked over his shoulder at Howard, who was watching Castiel with narrowed eyes.

“Dean is straight, Dad.” Castiel cleared his throat. “A straight man can spend time with a gay man the same way he spends time with another straight man.” Castiel sighed, annoyance flaring suddenly. “You’ve spent time with gay men and you’re not gay.”

Howard snorted. “Trying to save your immortal soul, is he? Good luck to him.”

The screen door banged open and Dean’s heavy boots sounded down the hall before he appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. Castiel was staring at his father, trying to smother the unexpected surge of shame and disappointment with rage. Dean looked between the two of them.

“Everything good?”

“Yup,” Castiel replied without missing a beat, and turned back to the counter, his voice a dead rumble that Dean felt in his sternum.

Dean slipped his hands in his pockets, glancing around the faded yellow kitchen. “I’ll have to do some fine-tuning once we get to the show, but not much. Mind if I sit for a minute?”

“Not at all!” Castiel blurted, mortified by his own lack of manners. “Yes, of course. Do you want another beer? They’re probably cold by now.”

Dean gave a deep nod, “Beer me.”

“Your daddy still closing down Harvelle’s?”

Howard’s beady eyes narrowed on Dean as Castiel pulled a bottle from the fridge. He glared at Howard, leaned to hook the bottle on the edge of the table and smacked it with the flat of his palm, uncapping it. He handed it to Dean, who looked up at him with his jaw a little slack. Castiel looked back at his father, feeling suddenly warm.

“Dad, don’t-”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Dean waved a hand, taking a drink from the bottle. “He does, occasionally. Though, ever since Ed over at the yellow cab raised his rates,” Dean gestured with a thumb over his shoulder. “His pennies don’t get him as far.”

“Your brother still off at college?”

Dean grinned, shoulders thrown back suddenly as he gave a soft laugh. “Yeah, Sammy is still at Stanford. Probably will be for a while. Law school, ya know?”

Even Howard cracked a bit of a smile at the obvious pride Dean took in relaying this information. “And you ended up at Bobby Singer’s auto shop.”

Castiel winced but Dean just shrugged, “Someone had to pay for tuition.”

Howard snorted. “Sounds like this one.” He waved a hand at Castiel. “Eighty thousand a year, but lives like a monk because he’s paying one’s business loan and keeping the lights on for the other one, who’s drowning in alimony and child support.”

Dean glanced over his shoulder at Castiel, who had stopped rummaging in a cabinet and was holding three bottles of spices between his long fingers. Dean smiled. “Cas is a stand-up guy.”

Castiel stepped up to the table. “Or just an easy mark. Dean, would you like to stay for dinner?“

Howard coughed once, a wet sound.

“Uh, yeah. Sure, man. How can I help?” He made to get up, but Castiel’s warm hand on his shoulder kept him in his seat.

“You just worked on my car for four hours. I think I can handle dinner.”

“Well, alright.” Dean grinned at Howard as he sunk lower in his chair, long legs sprawling under the table as he took a swig from his bottle. “Howard, tell me some embarrassing stories about Cas as a kid.”

Castiel spun around, frying pan in his hand, eyes wide at the request. Howard gave him a rueful smile before looking back at Dean. “When Castiel was five, he played an angel in the Easter play,” Howard’s lips pursed, and he scratched at his chin as he squinted at the ceiling. “I wanna say that was when we were in Santa Fe.” Howard waved a hand. “Anyway, it was hott’rn all get out and the church’s air conditioning was on the fritz.”

“Dad, you’re thinking of Michael,” Castiel’s voice was even as he grabbed a potato and cut it into slices. He could feel Dean’s eyes on the back of his neck.

“I think your dad would remember which one of you it was. Did he have little wings and a tin-foil halo?” Dean asked, clearly amused.

“He did.” Howard gave a deep nod. “Until he decided he was too hot in the middle of the service and took all his clothes off.”

Dean burst out laughing and Castiel rolled his eyes, flicking the oven on.

“Lorietta, his mother, tried to coax him back into his robe but he wasn’t havin’ it. Nope, he run clean across the chancel. Never forget it. Little wiener flopping everywhere-”

“Dad, that was Michael,” Castiel drawled, turning to find Dean doubled over in his seat in near-silent laughter, tears collecting at the corners of his eyes. “I wasn’t walking yet when we were in Santa Fe.”

Howard frowned, “Hmm, maybe you’re right.”

“Oh, god,” Dean gulped, another spastic chuckle erupting from his mouth. “I can’t.” He rubbed at his eyes. “Naked angel ruining the Easter play.” Dean chuckled again, shaking his head.

“It was Michael.” Castiel shuffled across the kitchen, pulling ground beef from the fridge before returning to the stove.

Howard tapped the table with his forefinger, thinking. “What about when you got your head stuck in the bannister at the ranch house in Boise?”

Castiel sighed. “That was Gabriel.”

“Got caught necking with that cheerleader in the announcers box at the football field?”

“Luc.” Castiel rolled his eyes.

“What about when you broke your mother’s vase playing ball in the house? You three tried to glue it back together but the thing sprung a leak on the dining room table in the middle of dinner.”

Castiel turned around, face scrunched, spatula in hand. “That was an episode of the _Brady Bunch._ ”

Dean slapped his hand over his mouth to smother his bark of laughter. Howard frowned. “Your mother loved that show.”

They managed to make it through a dinner of loose-meat sandwiches (“A _maid-rite_? What even-“ “Just try it, Dean.” “Hey, this ain’t so bad. Like a sloppy Joe without the sloppy.” “And your shirt rejoices over the fact.”) and home fries without incident, chatting long after their plates were empty. When Howard began to nod off at the table, Dean offered to clean up while Castiel got his father ready for bed.

When Castiel returned to the kitchen some time later, Dean was meticulously wiping down the counters, a stack of clean and dry dishes next to the sink. It wasn’t much past sunset, the rest of the house now dark, and Castiel took a moment to admire Dean from a distance. He was wearing his typical flannel-over-a-t-shirt, dark denim hugging his bow-legs, and boots, and a sense of longing lacerated Castiel. His fingers itched to reach for him.

Dean turned then, satisfied with the state of the kitchen, and froze when he found Castiel in the doorway. Castiel’s face shifted quickly but by the expression that settled on Dean’s, Castiel knew that his admiration hadn’t gone unnoticed. Dean tossed the dish towel on the counter and took slow steps towards Castiel.

“Your dad okay?”

Castiel nodded, eyes moving from Dean’s down to his lips. “He tires out easily, now. Just the excitement of watching you work on the car was enough to-”

“Watching me was exciting?” Dean stepped right into Castiel’s personal space and he snorted, looking down and away.

“For an eighty year-old man, yes.”

“What about you, though?” Dean’s hand snuck around Castiel’s hip, resting there lightly. Castiel didn’t move, just lifted his eyes to meet Dean’s.

“Dean…”

Dean grinned. “I really like it when you say my name, you know that?” Both hands were on Castiel’s hips then, walking him backwards until his shoulder blades bumped into the hallway wall, the decorative cross hanging there digging into his spine.

“We aren’t doing this here.” Castiel’s words stopped Dean’s mouth before it met his, and Dean pulled back, tilted his head and narrowed his eyes.

“I seem to remember someone having an issue with fucking in cars.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “The location wasn’t the issue, Dean.” Castiel frowned. “Well, not entirely the issue.”

“What do you want, Cas?” Dean flattened his palms on either side of Castiel’s head and leaned in, sage-colored eyes leveled on ocean blue. “Hmm? You want me to be your… your boyfriend?” Dean pressed his lips together, squinting at Castiel. “You ask any girl in this town how well that worked out for them.” Dean stepped back, hands at his side, and shook his head as he added, “I ain’t boyfriend material.”

“And I’m not flavor of the week material,” Castiel replied softly, eyes boring into Dean’s, who winced as he turned away, wiping at his mouth.

“I know you’re not,” Dean sighed, looking at Castiel for a beat before he reached for Castiel’s hips again, stepping right into him, one leg sliding between both of Castiel’s. They were hips to hips, belly to belly, chest to chest. “That was never what you were to me.”

Dean’s lips brushed Castiel’s and Castiel felt his eyelids flutter, tasting the sweet tang of beer, the cross still digging painfully into his back. “And what was that?”

Dean snorted, looking to the side and biting his lip. “You’re gonna make me say it?”

Castiel’s hands went to Dean’s hips, readying to push him away. “If you can’t-“

“You’re, like, my hero, Cas.”

Castiel blinked at him, brain tripping over itself to try and follow the train of thought. Of all the things he’d anticipated Dean saying, _you’re special to me, you’re the only one, you fuck like a champ, “_ hero” was definitely not anywhere in the vicinity of what he was expecting. Dean fidgeted, a fine blush making the freckles across his cheeks darken.

“Your… hero?”

Dean glared at him. “Don’t ask me to say shit and then make fun of me.”

Castiel brought up his hands, laying them on Dean’s chest. “No, no, I wasn’t…” Castiel chuckled, looking at his hands and realized he was kind of tipsy. They’d drunk almost an 18-pack between them. “I just… I wasn’t expecting…”

“It’s because you don’t see yourself the way I see you, the way everyone else sees you.” Dean sighed, pressing his lips together in frustration. “You’re this badass nurse from the big city who gave up your life to move to the middle of fucking nowhere, to take care of your dad. Who, from what I understand, has never done right by you.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Castiel sighed.

Dean shook his head. “You _always_ have a choice, Cas.”

“Gabriel has a family and Michael has his business. Luc just… won’t. I have the nursing degree. It just made sense-”

“And that’s another thing!” Dean threw a hand in the air. “I find out you’re fuckin’ loaded? Or you would be, if you weren’t bailing out your family?”

“That’s not-”

Dean held up a his thumb and forefinger, then raised his middle finger with them. “And you’re smoking hot.” Castiel snapped his mouth shut and closed his eyes, feeling his cheeks flame. Dean shifted on his feet, their hips rubbing together with the motion, and Castiel opened his eyes to see Dean open his hand the rest of the way. His voice was soft as he said, “And you’re… you’re just… you don’t hide who you are. You’re not…” Dean’s eyes fell to Castiel’s collarbone. “You’re not afraid. Even when you were almost fuckin’ killed,” Deans eyes widened and he shook his head, “you… you wanted to go to the police!” Dean let out an astonished chuckle. “Your answer wasn’t to… to hide…” Dean looked down again.

Castiel cupped his face, forcing Dean’s eyes to meet his. “You don’t have to hide either, you know.”

Dean shook his head, starting to pull back, but Castiel held tight and kept Dean’s focus on him. Dean looked skeptical for a moment before he realized how close Castiel was, how his hands framed Dean’s face just right. Castiel seemed to notice at the same time, face going stoic as he started to remove his hands, but Dean was quicker, pressing his lips softly to Castiel’s.

This was exactly what Castiel should _not_ be doing. He knew it, but the tenderness with which Dean cupped his face—pressing soft, dry kisses with his full lips, over and over again—was making Castiel dizzy. Castiel’s own hands slid down to Dean’s neck, the warm skin there reminding him of the slopes and planes of Dean’s body, and that what felt like miles and miles of soft, warm skin existed under Dean’s clothes. When Dean pressed into him harder, he yelped at the feeling of the cross’ sharp corner digging into his shoulder blade.

“We can’t do this here,” Castiel managed to gulp in between persistent kisses.

“Mmm, you’re right. Your room upstairs?” Dean grabbed Castiel’s hands, tugging him backwards and towards the stairs.

“Dean…” Castiel’s eyes flicked over the other man’s shoulder to Howard’s closed door.

“ _Cas…”_ Dean intoned, stopping at the foot of the stairs and leaning on the banister. “You know you should give me the tour. It’s the polite, midwestern thing to do.”

Castiel snorted. “Like you didn’t poke around up there when you washed your hands earlier.”

“You sent me up there. I would have happily climbed over all of Howard’s geriatric bathroom equipment.” Dean stepped closer. “I think you want me up there. In your room.”

Castiel gasped as Dean leaned forward and snagged his bottom lip with his teeth, the scrape against his sensitive flesh just enough to surprise. Castiel felt the sting in the pit of his stomach, his jeans suddenly uncomfortably tight. Dean was smiling at him, that cocky ‘you want this’ smirk that both infuriated and aroused Castiel. Dean’s eyes lit up.

“Which reminds me. I gotta piss.” Dean clapped Castiel hard on the chest and vaulted up the stairs.

Castiel opened and closed his mouth like a fish, frozen in place. He managed to snap out of it, hand clutching the bannister to aid him in hauling himself up after Dean. The bathroom door was already shut when he made it up and Castiel sighed, running a hand through his hair and biting his lip. He paced down the hallway, looking out the small window at the end of the hall but seeing only himself reflected back in it. His brain was swimming pleasantly, skin warm, and he knew he was easily pliable in his current state. He should ask Dean to leave.

Castiel was chewing on his thumb nail, arms crossed over his chest and deep in thought when the bathroom door opened. Dean jumped, his hand on the light switch, clearly not expecting Castiel to be right outside the door.

“I washed my hands, I swear.”

Castiel dropped his arms and snorted a laugh. Dean was cute. And funny. And when he smiled at Castiel like he was doing right now, Castiel had a really hard time remembering why it was a bad idea to keep seeing him. Stepping towards him, Dean gathered handfuls of Castiel’s shirt, pulling him in for a hard kiss that made Castiel’s upstairs brain turn off—lights out, nobody’s home.

Castiel’s hands grabbed at Dean’s face, kissing him back ferociously. Their legs tangled as Castiel tried to maneuver them down the hall and it was a miracle they didn’t end up on the floor. Castiel wasn’t sure they would have ever made it into his room if that had happened.

Dean grabbed the hem of Castiel’s shirt, ripping it over his head roughly before coming back in for another brutal kiss, his calloused hands running all over Castiel’s torso. Castiel was shoving Dean’s flannel down his arms—why did this man wear so many goddamn layers?—but quickly lost focus as Dean’s mouth ghosted down the side of his neck, sucking at his pulse point. They stumbled back into the bed, Dean yelping as they missed the mattress and Castiel rammed him into the bedpost, his lower back hitting the bed knob hard enough to bruise.

“Shit!” Dean swore, turning to look at the offensive object. Between Dean’s curse and the headboard ramming back into the wall with a resounding thud, Castiel froze, a large hand coming up to cover Dean’s mouth.

Castiel turned his ear towards the door, listening hard, but was unable to hear much over the sound of his own galloping heart. He was so focused that he almost didn’t notice Dean starting to undo his belt buckle. Castiel’s head whipped back, looking down at Dean’s hands, watching them shove his pants and boxers down his hips and then up at Dean’s eyes, mischievous over Castiel’s hand, still covering his mouth.

“Dean-”

“We’ll be quiet, I promise,” he whispered as soon as Castiel took his hand away, and cut off any protests by pressing his mouth to Castiel’s as his hand found Castiel’s dick.

Castiel let out a shaky sigh, one stroke of Dean’s hand coaxing his half-hard cock to full length. Dean moaned softly into his mouth, it raised the hairs on the back of Castiel’s neck and he grappled for Dean’s belt, wanting his skin.

Getting Dean out of his boots was a bit awkward, then Castiel nearly tripped as he tried to kick his own pants and underwear off his legs. Next, Dean hit Castiel in the face with his dick while Castiel was trying to pull his pants the rest of the way off, which may or may not have been an accident, but Dean had laughed so hard that Castiel shoved him back down on the bed, anyway.

The springs of the mattress groaned as Castiel climbed on top of him, and Dean’s eyes were hazy with mirth and alcohol, his hands running all over Castiel’s body like he was trying to touch him everywhere at once. Dean hummed as Castiel kissed down his chest, wriggling on the bed as Castiel hooked his hands behind Dean’s knees to force his legs open wider, capturing the tip of Dean’s dick in his mouth.

“Fuck!” Dean cursed, then quickly shoved his fist into his mouth, biting hard. Castiel gazed up the length of Dean’s body, seeing his tummy tremble and his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard.

Castiel waited, tonguing the slit and applying suction, watching Dean’s back arch. Eventually Dean’s head finally tipped down, green eyes locking on blue, and Castiel dropped all the way down, the fat head of Dean’s dick slipping past his throat, and the look on Dean’s face made up for the involuntary thrust that gagged him.

Castiel worked him up, sloppy and dirty, not even making Dean ask for any of it. As he rubbed spit-slicked fingers against the tight ring of muscle behind Dean’s balls, Dean sputtered and heaved, cramming his hand into his mouth to smother shouts down to moans.

“Fuck, Cas…” Dean whined, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, hips rolling up into Castiel’s mouth, hissing as Castiel’s finger sunk to the third knuckle. “Please…”

Castiel pulled all the way off, licking the spit and precum from his lips as he fumbled with his bedside drawer, feeling around until his hand closed on a bottle of lube. Dean’s hips were still rolling and Castiel watched, mesmerized, as Dean’s body writhed, his cock bobbing enticingly, heels hooked on the edge of the mattress. He really should get a towel…

Dean yelped in surprise as Castiel grabbed his ankles and pulled until his ass slipped off the end of the bed, but then Castiel was guiding Dean’s feet to his shoulders.

“Uh, what-“

“Brace. You won’t hurt me.” Castiel squirted lube on his fingers, rubbing them together to warm it.

“But I can move ba-”

Castiel was shaking his head and Dean gasped as Castiel smudged his tight coil of muscle with the slick pad of his thumb. “Messy.”

Dean’s head flopped back against the mattress and Castiel felt his toes curl against his shoulders. Castiel turned his head to kiss Dean’s ankle, continuing the soft, circular motion with his thumb. Dean was completely relaxed, this time. No resistance, just the flutter of trying to pull him in. Castiel rewarded him by sinking his index finger deep, bracing himself as Dean lifted his hips with a gasp so loud it could have sucked all the oxygen from the room.

“Shit, Cas. Fuck, man. Jesus.” Castiel looked up to see Dean’s arm flung over his eyes, chest rising and falling rapidly.

Castiel let his finger drag out slowly, the fingertip hooking inside to tease Dean wider. Dean’s thighs were beginning to shake, his feet on Castiel’s shoulders shifting, pressing hard into his delts from the strain of keeping his body from folding in half.

Castiel got more lube, coating his fingers and pressing two against his entrance, sliding in just enough to spread, scissoring him open faster. After a moment, Castiel relented to Dean’s trembling body, allowing those fingers to be pulled in.

“Fuck, right there,” Dean whined, his voice absolutely wrecked and Castiel pressed another quick kiss to Dean’s trembling ankle. 

When Dean began to actively press down onto Castiel’s fingers, still stretching, Castiel started to add a third. Dean arched again, shout gargled in the back of his throat, fist in his mouth. Castiel looked up to watch Dean’s cock bob enticingly close, precum dribbling down the shaft, and Castiel darted up to lick it away. Dean hissed, whether from the stretch of his muscles bending him in half or from the sensation of Castiel’s fingers inside him, Castiel didn’t know.

Dean’s ass clenched as a low groan rumbled in his chest and when Castiel began to thrust, Dean’s hips arched, a slew of filthy things passing his lips, Castiel’s cock jumping, begging for attention. Castiel knew what he was feeling, full and stretched, one finger pressing deep as the other two pulled almost all the way out, two fingers pressing back in, the other out so he was never actually empty. Just full and then fuller.

“Fuck, Cas. Cas. Oh my god _Cas._ I can’t. I can’t stay… fuck!”

“Turn over,” Castiel found himself saying, fingers slipping out. He was surprised when Dean scrambled to comply. “Hands and knees.”

Castiel stood, leaning on the bed for balance. Both of his legs were asleep but he didn’t want to wait, the sight of Dean on all fours in the middle of his bed, tan skin against a white quilt, dick hanging long between his legs, was enough to make him rush through this. Once Dean got his, it would be Castiel’s turn.

“Cas,” Dean moaned, more of a whimper as Castiel’s hand smoothed over one globe of his ass, two fingers from his other hooking in at Dean’s sensitive rim. “God, Cas, fuck me.”

Castiel froze, dick jerking hard, and there’s no way he heard that right. Castiel’s head was swimming in beer and fantasy must have traded places with reality for a moment. Dean’s back arched, reaching forward with his hands like a cat stretching, ass rising higher.

“C’mon, Cas. What are you waiting for? You got condoms, right?”

Castiel’s fantasies rarely wasted time on safe sex.

“Dean… you…” Castiel swallowed on a suddenly dry throat. “You don’t-”

Dean’s head hung on his neck, hands clenching as he lowered himself to his elbows, resting his forehead on his fists. “Don’t make me beg for it, man.”

Castiel blinked down at him, the muscles in his back taut and mesmerizing as they slid over one another, Dean shifting uncomfortably. Castiel marveled at how exposed he allowed himself to be in this moment. Castiel’s hand rested gently against his lower back, but Dean jumped nonetheless.

“Dean, I don’t think we sh-”

“You’d rather it be someone else?” Dean’s voice was sharp, eyes cutting over his shoulder, and Castiel’s mouth snapped shut as something in his chest pulled tight.

Castiel reached over for the bedside drawer again, tearing a condom off as a little voice somewhere in the back of his head warned him, _this is going to hurt later_. Castiel ignored it, sliding on the rubber, grabbing more lube to slick himself up. He climbed onto the bed behind Dean. “You’re sure about this?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he muttered and Castiel frowned.

“Dean, we don’t-”

“Cas, no chick flick moments, okay? I want this. I’m drunk enough to ask but sober enough to enjoy it.” Dean twisted around to look at Castiel. “Unless you don’t _want_ to fuck me…”

Castiel shook head and sighed. “I didn’t say that.”

“That’s what I thought.” Dean faced forward again, arching his lower back and sinking closer to Castiel’s cock before pulling himself back onto his knees again. “Do it.”

Castiel pressed the blunt tip against Dean’s rim, loose but it still clenched against him and he felt Dean huff, his head lowering to his fists again. Castiel’s hand went to the base of Dean’s spine to provide a grounding touch as his hips pushed forward. When the head popped in, Dean’s tiny gasp filled the silent room. Castiel had to bite the inside of his cheek, the tightness around him stealing his own breath.

“Fuck, Cas, yes. Come on.” Dean’s voice was a low rumble just short of desperate. Castiel couldn’t deny him while his brain was swimming and Dean’s warmth was seeping through the latex. “Are you trying to get me to beg? Come on!”

Dean pushed back, ass swallowing Castiel halfway before he stopped with a hiss. When Dean followed with a groan, Castiel’s hands flew to his hips, holding him steady as the room spun. Castiel just wanted to drive into him, rake his nails down the smooth, perfect expanse of Dean’s back, feel his balls slapping behind Dean’s. Dean wanted that, too, running at the mouth in a low rumble, spelling out all the dirty things he wanted. Dean could take it and he wanted Castiel to give it to him.

Castiel grabbed onto Dean’s shoulder, squeezing hard to shut him up before he bent to hook his other arm around Dean’s ribs. Dean made a choked sound as Castiel pulled him backwards and up on his knees, guiding Dean to sit back against his lap. The action sunk Castiel to the hilt, and they moaned in unison, Castiel’s face pressing into Dean’s shoulder as his hand clenched at Dean’s chest. Dean chuckled, covering Castiel’s hand with his.

“They’re real,” Dean teased.Castiel tweaked Dean’s nipple, making him hiss.

“You good?” Castiel murmured into Dean’s neck, planting soft kisses down to his shoulder and Castiel felt goosebumps break out across Dean’s neck.

“No.” Dean lifted slightly, breath hitching at the friction. “I need you to Fuck. Me.”

Castiel growled, both hands clamping on Dean’s hips, and he leaned back to give himself enough room to piston his hips up into Dean. It seemed to melt Dean momentarily, and in the window’s reflection Castiel could see him, head thrown back in ecstasy, mouth open in a silent scream. Then his back arched and he began using his own leverage to meet Castiel thrust for thrust. Castiel’s hold was loose, letting Dean maneuver and swivel, waiting for the moment when…

“Oh, _fuck_!”

Castiel’s hand clamped over Dean’s mouth, his other arm locking around his chest as Castiel worked his hips up furiously, watching Dean come apart on top of him as he nudged against his prostate. Dean’s cock bobbed in front of him, dotting his stomach with precum as his entire body trembled..

When Dean’s ass tightened around Castiel, he knew he was done for. The sounds coming from Dean stopped abruptly, even though Castiel could feel his mouth open against his palm. Dean’s entire body was trembling, and it was all Castiel could do to keep the rhythm, his release barreling down on him as the hand hooked around Dean’s ribs fell to his cock, jerking him without skill. Dean’s voice came back full force, Castiel’s hand tightened on his jaw, and Dean bit at his fingers as he came again, his release painting his torso.

Castiel muttered a weak, “Thank God,” and with a final thrust locked his arms around Dean’s chest, burying his face in Dean’s neck as his release lit every synapse on fire. He rode the wave slowly, mouth opening to pant against Dean’s sweat-damp skin, rocking into him with shallow thrusts until his muscles finally loosened.

Dean’s head was lolled back against Castiel’s, panting, hands clutched around Castiel’s wrists where his arms were nearly wrapped double around Dean’s torso. Castiel became increasingly aware of the ache in his lower back, the tingle in his feet. He shifted, a hand laying on Dean’s shoulder and Dean took the invitation to move, sitting up onto his knees with a groan. Castiel pulled off the condom, tying it off before tossing it in the waste basket next to the dresser.

“I’ll… uh… get you a towel.”

Dean snorted and Castiel looked over his shoulder as he wobbled to the doorway—god, they’d left the door open—on legs made of jelly. “That’s usually my line.”

Castiel couldn’t help but smile, watching Dean run a hand over his stomach and then frown down at it. Castiel returned to find Dean in the same position he’d left him, kneeling in the middle of the bed, and it wasn’t that Castiel expected him to disappear, but he was still kind of surprised that Dean was real. Castiel handed over the towel before snatching his glass from the bedside table and leaving again, taking his time filling it in the bathroom sink.

When he returned, Dean was in his boxers sprawled out on top of the quilt, one arm tucked under his head, eyes drooping. They opened wide when Castiel returned, tracking his movement to the side of the bed where he offered Dean the glass of water. He took it wordlessly and downed half before returning it. Castiel drank down the other half and when he was done he caught Dean staring at his dick with mild interest.

“Can I help you?”

Dean blinked up at him. “Sorry, uh… just… that was _in_ me.” Dean gave a shudder and Castiel felt as if he’d been punched in the throat. The silence stretched. Dean looked up and, seeing Castiel’s expression, scrambled up unto his knees.

“Ow, fuck.” Dean winced, walking on his knees over to the edge of the bed to grab Castiel around the back of the neck. “I meant, like, I don’t know how you did it.”

Castiel’s head tilted to the side, eyes tightening. “Did what?”

Dean’s cheeks seemed to flame. “You know… fit it in there.” Dean ruffled the back of his hair and sat back on his heels with a wince.

“You give me too much credit.” Castiel bent over to grab his own boxers and tried not to feel self-conscious as Dean watched him pull them on. “Are you-”

Dean closed his eyes on a wince and held up a hand. “Don’t… don’t ask me if I’m okay. I’m not some blushing virgin. I’m fine.” He shifted again, cheek twitching.

Castiel rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “I probably shouldn’t have-”

“Yeah, well, you did. No take backs.” Dean flopped onto his back and reached for his phone on the opposite bedside table. “You mind if I listen to the game?”

“You…” Castiel paused, brain whirring. “You want to stay?”

Dean looked up at him, the shock replaced instantly by mock outrage. “You would kick me out after all that?” Dean huffed, looking back at his phone. “I gave you everything, you bastard.”

Castiel couldn’t bite back his laugh and Dean’s self satisfied smirk, lit by the dull glow of his phone screen, made his chest feel warm. “You’re not worried about someone seeing the Impala?”

Dean paused, eyebrows lifted, and frowned before waving a hand and shaking his head. “We drank a lot and have to leave at the ass-crack of dawn tomorrow. Makes sense I’d crash on your couch.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “You’re gonna crash on the couch.” It wasn’t a question.

Dean looked up at him and opened his hands, phone balancing against his finger tips. “That’s what I’m gonna tell anyone that asks.” Castiel rolled his eyes and rubbed his forehead, but as he was opening his mouth to protest, Dean cut him off. “Cas, for once in your life just shut the fuck up and lay down.”

Castiel should have been offended, but Dean’s presumptuous pat of the space beside him rendered him what Anna called “gooey”—that special type of brain fog that made someone ignore all the red flags and just go with it. Castiel settled next to him and Dean threw an arm around his shoulders, tugging him in so that Castiel’s head rested on his shoulder, clearly able to see Dean’s screen.

“You a Cubs or a Sox fan?”

Castiel’s eyes sunk closed. “I don’t watch football, Dean.” Castiel felt Dean’s snort, the scuff of stubble against Castiel’s forehead before warm lips rested against his temple. The arm around Castiel’s shoulders lifted to allow Dean to dig his fingers into Castiel’s hair.

And that’s how they fell asleep, Castiel curled up to Dean’s side, Dean’s head resting against Castiel’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
> 
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	17. The Road to Wichita

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a run-in with both of their fathers, Dean and Castiel finally make it to Wichita.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: description of bodily fluids, domestic violence, internalized homophobia

Dean sat up like a shot at 5 am, a loud banging issuing from the floor across the room. His hand scrambled for the bedside drawer, falling on nothing as he searched for his pistol, and only then did he remember that he wasn’t in his own bed. A low whine wafted up from the ball of covers next to him, a naked arm emerging from the sheets like a man clawing his way out of a grave.

The banging sounded again, three sharp thuds that rattled the floorboards and Castiel angrily flung the covers off, nearly hitting Dean in the face in his effort to free himself.

“Okay,  _ okay _ ,” Castiel grumbled to himself, launching out of the bed to stomp into the hallway. He banged a heel against the floor twice before shuffling back into the room, one hand slapping the light switch, the other rubbing his face.

Dean’s hand flew up to cover his eyes, squinting against the sudden brightness. Castiel grumbled an apology as he sat heavily on the side of the bed. He rested his elbows on his knees, head hanging low as he struggled to wake up, hips and back aching, head throbbing with each beat of his heart. Castiel felt Dean shift in the bed behind him and felt his stomach clench, last night playing out so clearly in his mind that his morning wood was about to become a problem.

He let his head hang back as the banging started again. “Alright, I’m  _ coming. _ ” He vaulted himself to his feet, stomping petulantly and Dean’s bright burst of laughter rushed through him like a breeze.

Castiel turned to find Dean on his side, grabbing for Castiel’s pillow, pulling it to his face to muffle his continuing laughter. By the time Dean got a hold of himself, Castiel could feel the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. When the pillow fell away, revealing Dean’s boyish grin, Castiel couldn’t help but smile. Dean reached up to rub his eye, a spastic chuckle slipping past his lips.

“How is he able to hit the ceiling?”

“His cane.” Castiel ripped open a drawer, pulling out a pair of pajama pants and a white tee with “Chicago Marathon” emblazoned across the front in red and blue. “Are you gonna-“

“Yuh,” Dean breathed, moving to sit up and winced, “Jesus.” Dean’s eyes flicked to Castiel’s back as he shuffled out the door. “Don’t think I don’t know you’re smirking, over there.”

Castiel wasn’t, but he threw one over his shoulder for Dean all the same.

Castiel found Howard in his usual morning spot, perched on a step stool in his small closet, wrist dangling over the handle of his cane in displeasure. “Took you long enough.”

“Good morning to you, too, Dad.” Castiel bent so that Howard could hook his arms over Castiel’s shoulders, then lifted him to his feet with ease. “I’m sorry taking care of bodily functions and brushing my teeth got in the way of your morning plans. I hope you’re not late for your meeting with the squirrel that wanders into the yard around noon every day.”

“You smell like a brewery.”

“And you smell like Ben-gay and denture adhesive. We all have our faults.” Castiel shuffled Howard over to the bathroom, helping him to the toilet and pretending to be somewhere else while he did his business.

“ _ For the heavy drinker and the glutton will come to poverty, and drowsiness clothes one with rags. _ ” 

Castiel sighed, rubbing sleep from his eye. “Proverbs?”

“Twenty-three, twenty-one. Did that Winchester boy stay over?” Castiel’s shoulders tensed, leaning against the bathroom sink. “Take that as a yes.” Howard coughed.

And continued to cough. Castiel was forced to pause in helping him dress, handing him tissue after tissue as thick mucus was expelled from his lungs. His oxygen levels were acceptable, however, pulse tripping through A-fib and Castiel confirmed it listening to Howard’s heart. Honestly, he’d heard worse.

Castiel was finally getting close to some semblance of consciousness when he followed Howard out of the study turned bedroom, shadowing him as he shuffled down the hall at a glacial pace. “Dad are you sure you don’t want the walk-”

“You in some kind of hurry, boy?” Howard snapped, trying to look over his shoulder at Castiel, who held up his hands.

“No, sir.” Castiel sighed.

After what seemed like a millennium, they finally made it to the entryway of the kitchen. Dean was leaning against the counter, hair a bedhead swirl as he squinted moodily over his coffee cup. Howard’s voice boomed in the small kitchen.

“How was the game last night, Mr. Winchester?”

Dean winced but was otherwise unmoved. “Royals beat the Sox eight to six.”

Howard rested his bony forearms on the kitchen table as Castiel went to the counter, resting a hand on Dean’s forearm as he reached around him for Howard’s pill minder. Dean scuttled away, nearly spilling his coffee.

“Coffee, Mr. Novak?”

“Caffeine would likely kill me, Mr. Winchester.”

Dean’s eyebrows raised as he poured coffee into a mug. “Okay, none for you, then.” Dean held up the mug, raising his eyebrows at Castiel. “Sugar?”

Castiel reached for it, a sardonic smile gracing his lips. “Thank you, Dumpling.”

Dean gave him a tart smile. “Ha. Ha.” He snatched the sugar dish and looked to Howard. “It’s like there’s nothing you can do about that joke. It’s coming and you just have to stand there.”

Dean heaved a martyred sigh, dumping two spoonfuls into Castiel’s mug, leaving the spoon in for Castiel to stir himself. Castiel took a sip before setting the mug on the table and pulling out a jug of OJ for Howard. He turned to the cabinets but Dean was already holding out a juice glass.

“Saw you had some eggs and bacon in there,” Dean said into the rim of his coffee cup. “Can I fry you up some breakfast?” A pause. “Unless you want pancakes…”

Castiel was dropping pills into Howard’s hand as the old man threw them back with sips of orange juice but turned to blink at Dean. Dean was looking at nothing, eyes focused somewhere in the middle distance, but there was clearly a smirk on his lips behind his mug.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Speak for yourself, boy. Over easy. Burn the bacon.” Howard flicked a hand at Dean and the younger man pushed himself off the counter, setting his mug down next to Castiel’s.

“Yessir.”

Dean made breakfast in silence, handing Howard his plate then going back to the stove while Howard and Castiel worked out some kind of schedule for the next three days. Castiel insisted on seven-to-seven coverage while Howard argued he only needed someone to drop by in the afternoons to make sure he wasn’t dead. Castiel was rubbing his forehead in frustration when Dean set a steaming plate of scrambled eggs in front of him, the bacon stiff and crispy just the way he liked it. Castiel watched him saunter back over to the counter, grab his own plate and dig in, one ankle crossed over the other.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel murmured, taking a bite and wondering how Dean knew how he liked his eggs.

“‘course,” Dean said through a mouth full of eggs, while shoving a piece of bacon in his mouth.

“You always eat standing up like a giraffe?” Howard asked Dean, who laughed around his mouthful of food. Howard then tapped Castiel’s shoulder and when Castiel looked at him, raised his eyebrows and nodded towards the door. Castiel rolled his eyes and dropped his fork, moving to stand.

“Bachelor habit. Cas, what you need, man?”

“Getting the paper,” Castiel sighed, trudging toward the hallway and Dean sat his plate down, wiping his hands on his jeans.

“I got it. Finish your food.”

“You make my son unholy.”

Both men froze, turning to gape at Howard who was glaring up at Dean with a look rarely seen without a pulpit to frame it. Castiel just looked at Howard as if he’d grown a second head.

“What now?”

Howard’s eyes moved to his son and when he spoke it was with all the power and fire of a preacher. “Castiel. You were named after an angel of the Lord.  _ Castiel.”  _ Howard hit each syllable hard enough to make Dean wince at every one. “He calls you Cas.” Howard’s eyes narrow on Dean. “You  _ remove _ the “iel,” the portion that means ‘of God’.”

Dean looked between Castiel and Howard, shoulders hunched. “I-I-I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t-“

Castiel sighed. “Don’t be an asshole, Howard.” He jutted a thumb over his shoulder. “Dean, grab the paper, please.”

Dean all but bolted and Castiel looked at his father. Howard leveled him with an ethereal blue stare, the one Castiel sometimes saw in the mirror.

“Don’t let him diminish who you are. Angels are warriors of God. You deserve-“

“Dad, stop. Just stop.”

Howard looked back at Castiel as if frustrated that Castiel wasn’t understanding what he was trying to say. Finally, he heaved a sigh and waved a gnarled hand in disgust.

“Don’t know why I bother,” the old man muttered as Dean shuffled back in with the paper.

“That makes two of us.” Castiel took the paper and handed it to Howard.

“You can sit at the table, boy.” Howard shook out his newspaper as Dean returned to his plate on the counter.

Dean waved a hand, leaning back with a small wince. “I’m good.”

Castiel snorted and Dean gave him a sharp glare. Howard disappeared behind the newspaper, muttering, “Don’t know why I bother.”

#

It was nearly seven by the time Castiel had gotten Howard settled in the window and rushed through a shower. Dean ran home after breakfast for his own shower and told Castiel to get a move on, to text him when he was on his way. Castiel pulled his scrubs out of his go-bag and replaced it with enough clothes to be able to spill something on himself twice a day and still have something to wear. He opened the bedside drawer, biting his lip as he eyed the bottle of lube and condoms. His eyes flicked to the mess of sheets, not having bothered to make the bed in his haste to get out of there.

Castiel slammed the drawer shut, leaving the items behind and zipping his bag with a confidence he didn’t feel.

Dean was catching an earful from John when Castiel pulled into the end of the driveway. They stood at the mouth of the garage, Dean leaning against the bumper of the Impala with his arms crossed over his chest and his head down. Castiel pulled himself out of the car as John slapped Dean hard upside the head. His shoulders went tense but he didn’t wince, his body seeming to turn to stone, as if movement were the catalyst for his father’s violence, not the fact that his father was an asshole.

The slam of the Buick’s drivers-side door echoed down the driveway, funneled by the houses close on either side. Castiel spun the keys on his finger before shoving them in his pocket as he charged towards them. Dean’s head lifted and he shouldered his overnight bag, grabbing the toolbox at his feet before stepping up to Castiel. He placed a palm on Castiel’s sternum as his mouth opened.

“’Ey, Cas. We better get a move on, man.” Dean’s smile was hard and it didn’t reach his eyes. Castiel studied his face for a moment before he gave a single nod of his head, glaring at John as Dean nudged past Castiel.

Castiel took Dean’s bag and they trudged to the Buick together. “What’s his problem now?”

Dean sniffed, waving his hand at Castiel as they rounded the back of the Buick. “He’s pissed I didn’t ask him to come.”

Castiel opened the trunk and Dean hauled the toolbox in, pushing it to the side as Castiel fit Dean’s bag next to his own. “So he slapped you?”

Dean’s eyes met Castiel’s then skittered away. “O-oh, that was because… well… because I’m going with you.” Dean slammed the trunk.

Castiel stood in shock, keys sitting in one outstretched palm as he blinked in confusion. “It’s my car.”

Dean pursed his lips and stepped closer to Castiel, dropping his voice even though John was well out of earshot. “Don’t try to understand an old drunk’s logic, Cas, okay?” He snatched the keys from Castiel’s palm and knocked twice on the trunk. “Let’s go.”

“Excuse me,” Castiel said, turning to follow Dean with his eyes as the other man shuffled over to the driver’s side door, reaching for the handle. “This is my car. What makes you think you’re driving?”

Dean let out a long laugh, shaking his head at Castiel as he wrenched open the door and lowered himself into the driver’s seat. Castiel rolled his eyes, one hand settling on his hip. “It’s  _ my _ car, Dean.”

Dean leaned his head out, craning his neck to look back at Castiel. “Look, I saw what you did the Monte on a regular basis. Now is not the time.”

“I didn’t-”

“Get in the car, Cas.” Dean’s order was punctuated by the slamming of his car door. Castiel rolled his eyes and made his way around to the passenger seat. Dean pushed the keys in the ignition and hissed as he shifted in his seat. Castiel’s eyes cut out the window.

“Probably not the best idea to ask to be fucked the night before a four-hour drive.”

Dean flopped back against the seat and rolled his neck towards Castiel, his eyes beyond unamused, before he cranked the engine. Dean’s lips were still mashed together in displeasure as he threw his arm along the setback, hand-holding Castiel’s headrest as he looked over his shoulder to back out of the driveway. His eyes met Castiel’s before he pulled his hand away to put it in Drive.

Dean flashed a cocky grin. “I’ll make sure I get you one of those donut pillows for the way back.”

#

“Dean.”

Castiel stood near the back fender as Dean crouched near the rear passenger tire, scrubbing viciously at the white lettering with what looked like an oversized toothbrush. Dean squinted at it and sprayed the brush again with Oxy-clean, going in for more.

“Dean. You’ve been obsessively cleaning for-“ Castiel looked at his watch. “Forty-seven minutes now. I saw a car wash on the way in-”

“I’m almost done.” Dean wiped at the lettering with a cloth, tilting his head this way and that.

“You said that forty minutes ago.”

Dean rested his elbows on his knees, hands dangling between his legs as he hung his head with a weary sigh. “You got some place to be?” Dean peered at him over his shoulder and Castiel pursed his lips, looking down at his shoes as he shook his head. “Okay, then shut up. And stop leaning on the car, man.” Dean snapped the towel at him, catching Castiel on the knee cap.

“Ow! Asshole!” Castiel scowled as he reached down to rub at the spot. The sting intensified before it settled into a dull throb.

“Sorry,” Dean grunted, pulling himself to his feet and taking yet another orbit around the car. Castiel didn’t think it could get cleaner. Dean had used pipe cleaners to get dust out of the air vents, for chrissakes. “Okay, I think we’re ready.” Dean wiped his palms on his jeans and a dreamy smile broke across his face. “Pretty, ain’t she?”

Castiel fought a smile. “Yes, she’s lovely.”

Dean rolled his eyes and opened the driver’s side door. “Get in the car, asshat.”

Dean and Castiel left the parking deck of their hotel, Dean’s bout of obsessive tuning and cleaning eating up what little of the morning had been left after they’d arrived. It was well after 1 pm when they checked in at the registration tent and received their stall number and event packet. They rolled gingerly down Douglas Avenue and found their spot, only about a block from the entrance. Dean demanded absolute silence while he backed in, insisting if the angle wasn’t right it would hurt their chances. A good number of cars were already on display, hoods up, with spectators stopping to ogle. Castiel glanced around as he climbed out, classic cars and modern hot rods dotting the street as far down Douglas Avenue as Castiel could see, while more cruised by looking for their own stalls.

“Oh man, we got a primo spot!” Dean was giddy, slamming the driver’s side door. He looked back and forth down the street as he rounded the hood and hit Castiel on the chest with the back of his hand. “Look, we’re, like, two blocks from the stage. Ice cream shop right behind us.” Dean jutted a thumb over his shoulder. “Coffee down the street a bit.” He gestured with his whole hand. “And,” Dean threw his arms out indicating the gray, blocky building across the street from them. “Right across from the transportation museum!” Dean grinned as he rubbed his hand together with maniacal glee.

Castiel’s head tilted to the side, squinting behind his sunglasses. “What are you, a supervillain?”

Dean’s shoulders dropped and he pouted at Castiel before punching him in the arm. “No, bitch, I’m Batman. Help me with the mirrors.”

Dean had thought of everything. Mirrors placed on the ground under the car, to more easily see the undercarriage. A few prominently placed “looking is fine, touching ain’t” signs for anyone who might try to get handsy. The original paperwork and title on the dashboard, clearly visible through the windshield. He sent Castiel a few streets over to the Kinkos for a foam-core board and Castiel thought he would die when Dean actually pulled out glue sticks, tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth as he pasted on a spec sheet, a timeline and photos of the car before and during the restoration process. Castiel helped him stick double-sided tape to the concrete in front of the bumper so the board leaned against it without the risk of flying away.

Dean stood back finally, admiring their handiwork, and Castiel wondered if he realized how hard he was smiling. His enthusiasm was infectious. Castiel wasn’t even all that bored walking the length of Douglas Avenue, getting a look at the competition, and watching Dean have complex, sometimes-heated conversations that he didn’t understand at all.

“So, how does the judging work?” Castiel asked as they made their way back to the Buick. They’d shut the street down to thru traffic around 5 pm but the crowd was thin, the real festivities not beginning until the next day. The beer stands, however, were already open.

Dean was mid-sip from the plastic cup in his hand; foam coated his upper lip and he tried to chase it with his tongue. Castiel reached over without thinking, smudging it away with his thumb then sucking the digit into his mouth. Dean watched, lips slightly parted, his green eyes glossy in the glow of the street lamps.

“Uh…” Dean looked down at his feet, reaching up to wipe his mouth. “Well, they’ll do a blind round tomorrow morning, meaning we won’t know who’s a judge and who’s not.” Dean rubbed a hand across the back of his neck as if that caused him extreme stress. “By noon, they’ll announce the finalists. Then there’s a little parade at two, where we all drive down the main drag, here.” Dean gestured around them. “And crowd-favorite voting opens. Saturday morning we meet with the judges for the formal judging and answer any questions. Crowd favorite voting ends at noon, and winners are announced at two.”

Dean’s cheeks puffed out and he exhaled slowly before downing half his glass in one go. Castiel raised his eyebrows and shook his head.”

“What do you win?”

“Uh… crowd favorites usually win, like, a gift certificate or something from the sponsor and a ribbon. Category winners get ribbons. Best in show gets a trophy and an invite to the conference championship. I think it’s in Dallas this year.”

Castiel stopped and Dean’s boot skidded against the asphalt in his effort to not leave him behind. “That’s it?” Dean stared at him for a moment as if he didn’t understand the question, then nodded. “No cash prize?”

Dean snorted a laugh. “Nah, these are primarily charity events.” Dean waved a hand at him and they began walking again. “Why, you think you were gonna make bank this weekend?”

Castiel frowned. “No, no, I just… obviously people are sinking a lot of money into these restorations…”

Castiel’s eyes caught on what looked like a modern Camaro body, but it was jacked up off its frame, looking as if it were ready for launch. The raised shell revealed a masterpiece of twisted pipes and gleaming chrome. The owner was explaining that the hot rod engine was designed to be housed inside the car, with the driver. Dean stopped when he saw Castiel’s neck craning to keep looking at it.

“Never pegged you for a hot rod type.” Dean’s elbow nudged Castiel.

“Where do you sit?” Castiel bent over, turning his head nearly upside down trying to see inside the car. He shivered as he felt Dean’s fingers whisper across his lower back, seeing the man wander around to the other side, beckoning him with a wave.

“You sit behind it. See, they’ve got, like, a go-cart frame in there.” Dean gestured with his cup and Castiel looked at Dean blankly.

“That seems ill-advised.”

Dean huffed a laugh, clapping Castiel on the shoulder before letting his arm snake around Castiel’s neck. He pressed to Castiel’s side, hip to hip, stubble grazing Castiel’s temple. “As a medical professional, I’ll take your word for it.” Castiel wasn’t sure if Dean’s lips actually ghosted across his forehead or if he just imagined it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
> 
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	18. Blind Judging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean get to the car show early and make a few friends who make an assumption. The results of the blind judging throw Dean for a loop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: internalized homophobia, description of panic attack

Castiel was not a morning person. He worked the nightshift for a reason, and the reason was that his body literally rejected consciousness before noon. So when Dean insisted on arriving at their stall at 7 am, he had to drag Castiel out of bed. Dean chattered at him on the slow, three-block walk from their hotel to the entrance to the festival. Volunteers and other early risers milled about, but the main drag was mostly abandoned when they reached the Buick.

Dean did a cursory orbit around her before nodding his head, as if satisfied she had weathered the perfectly clear, temperate, spring evening just fine. He pulled the two camp chairs out of the trunk, shaking them out and planting them on the sidewalk behind the car. Then he handed Castiel a chamois sponge.

“Wipe ‘er down, will ya? I’ll be right back.”

Dean had disappeared before Castiel had fully processed the request and was wiping the trunk in a daze when Dean returned fifteen minutes later. 

“Dude… just…” Dean cut himself off with a laugh and Castiel blinked at him, mouth set in an adorable frown. “Here, gimme that. You take this.” He offered Castiel the coffee cup and brown paper bag from one hand, taking the chamois while he nestled his own coffee in the cup holder of his chair. “I got you a danish. Don’t touch my breakfast sandwich.”

Castiel sipped his coffee, eyes tracking Dean without thought as he went over every inch with the soft sponge before pulling out a microfiber towel and doing it over again. The morning light was spilling down the street, turning everything in its path golden, and as Castiel finally started to wake up he couldn’t help but admire the way it played over Dean’s skin, glinted off his sandy hair and threw his long lashes into high relief.

Dean made sure to greet everyone who stopped to look at the car, answering any questions they had, flirting with old ladies, and lifting up toddlers to get a good look at the engine. A lot of women seemed interested in the Buick, asking their husbands to stop and encouraging them to ask Dean about this or that. Castiel found it incredibly endearing that Dean didn’t even seem to notice.

“Haven’t seen you on the circuit before.”

Castiel looked over to find a woman old enough to be his grandmother bundled up in a camp chair with a blanket, giant tortoise shell sunglasses covering her eyes. Castiel smiled.

“It’s my first time.” Castiel’s eyes cut to Dean, who was leaning against the front fender, arms crossed over his chest as he flirted with a blond co-ed. She laughed at something he said, throwing her head back, her fingertips lightly brushing his arm. Castiel looked away.

The old woman was smiling at him. “I remember my first car show.” She lifted her hand and pointed a manicured finger at the old man in a tattered ball cap and button-down, standing proudly in front of the car next to Castiel’s. “He took me to one on our first date.” She flicked a hand. “Haven’t been able to get out of it since.” Her voice sounded annoyed but the small smile gracing her lips told Castiel there was no place she’d rather be.

Castiel looked back to Dean, who was doing that cool, unaffected thing he did, the co-ed hanging on his every word. Dean’s eyes darted to Castiel and he smiled, throwing Castiel a wink before returning to his conversation. The co-ed had stepped closer and was twirling her hair around her finger. Castiel shook his head.

“Never seen quite so many ladies interested in a cherry rod.” Castiel looked over at the older woman, perplexed. “Your boy there seems to have a way with women.”

Castiel snorted. “Yeah, and doesn’t he know it.”

Looking up, he saw Dean frowning down at his hand and beginning to saunter over, the girl gone. Dean licked his thumb then rubbed vigorously at his palm. Castiel shook his head.

“Hey, Cas. Hand me one of those wipes, will you?”

Castiel reached under Dean’s chair for the pack of baby wipes and snatched one out, holding it out between two fingers, his face expressionless. Or at least he thought it was expressionless.

“Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t ask her for it.” Dean scrubbed, looked at his palm, then scrubbed some more. “What was I supposed to say? No? What if she’d been a judge?”

Castiel snorted. “Yeah,  _ she _ looks like a judge for a car show.” His neighbor tried to disguise her laugh as a cough. Castiel turned to her, gestured to Dean, and rolled his eyes.

Dean, noting he had an audience, pointed a finger at Castiel. “Now that’s just sexist and I cannot allow that kind of talk-”

“Oh, shut up.” Castiel rolled his eyes but couldn’t keep the smile off his face. Dean grinned back.

“Who’s your friend?” Dean dropped the baby wipe in the grocery sack they were using for trash and wiped his hands on his thighs before stepping over and reaching out his hand.

The old woman placed her hand in his. “Melinda. Should I call you Cassanova?”

Dean threw a grin over his shoulder. “Nah, that’s him. You can call me Dean.” Dean turned to look at the car in front of her and his face lit up. “Hey, pre-war. Nice!”

As if that was the magic word, Melinda’s husband turned and, seeing Dean bent to look in the back window, ambled over to start a conversation that looked like it was going to go on for a very long time. Castiel felt a smile tug at his lips, catching Dean’s face light up like a child’s as he got his first look at the engine before disappearing behind the hood.

“He called you Cas. Is your name  _ really _ Cassanova?”

Melinda noted how a bright burst of laughter from Castiel made Dean peek around the hood, grinning before he disappeared again. “No… no… uh… although it’s not much better.” Castiel pulled himself from his chair to shuffle over. “Castiel Novak.”

“Angel of Thursday,” Melinda said and Castiel’s eyes widened.

“Ye-es,” Castiel’s head tilted to the side, regarding her with an interested smile.

“Catholic school.” Melinda tapped her temple. “Never goes away.”

Castiel rocked his heels. “Ah.” He pointed at himself. “Preacher’s kid.” Melinda gave a deep nod of understanding.

“Hey,” Dean stepped over, fingers brushing the crook of Castiel’s elbow. “You want some ice cream?”

Castiel peeked at his watch. “It’s 9 a.m., Dean.”

“So? They’re open!” Dean gestured behind Castiel and Castiel rolled his eyes. “Whatever, dude. I’m gettin’ a sundae. Come’on, Roy.”

Dean squeezed Castiel’s shoulder as he passed and Castiel turned to watch him go before huffing a sigh and shaking his head. His eyes fell on the old woman again, finding her eyes on them, distractedly shaking her head at her husband’s offer of ice cream. He bent over laboriously to kiss the top of her head, but if she noticed she didn’t let on, her head turning from Castiel to Dean, who was holding the door open for Roy.

Castiel gave her a small smile, unease fluttering in his stomach. They weren’t in Lebanon, but looking around at the crowd——getting thicker by the minute—anyone around them could easily be from there or another small town just like it.

Castiel frowned, realizing at once that something inside him had fundamentally changed. He’d grown up in a liberal bubble, his mother moving them both to Chicago after separating from Howard when he was eleven. It was all private schools and community programs designed to promote acceptance and pride in being exactly who one was. It’s not that he hadn’t known that hatred and bigotry existed before he’d moved to Lebanon. He saw it on the sidewalks at PRIDE, read about it in the news and saw it portrayed in the media. But he’d always lived apart from that, had never felt the absolutely real threat of it until he’d been crushed against that urinal in a bar bathroom.

And now he felt the threat everywhere.

“How long have you boys been married?”

Castiel looked down to find the older woman was smiling up at him again, and Castiel’s eyebrows rose. “Hmm?” He leaned down, thinking he’d heard her wrong.

“How long have you two been married?”

She gestured between Castiel and the door of the ice cream shop. Castiel stood frozen, looking at Dean through the front window of the ice cream store, a tasting spoon in each hand while he reached for another that was being offered. Castiel shook his head, about to protest, when he found the old woman offering up her show program, open to the stall identification page.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to infer. You’re Winchester-Novak in the program, so I assumed-”

At that moment Dean appeared at Castiel’s shoulder, holding a giant banana split in a paper tray. “You gotta try this.” He dug a spoon into one of the mounds of ice cream and offered it to Castiel.

“I’m good.” Castiel shifted back a step but Dean, unaware of the conversation at hand, followed.

“Seriously, dude, this is like homemade ice cream. The strawberry is made from local strawberries.” Dean jabbed the spoon closer to his mouth. “Here.”

Castiel jerked his head back. “What? No!”

Dean’s eyes went flat, “Don’t make me make airplane noises.” Castiel raised his eyebrows at him. “Hey, did I ever tell you about the time I took Sam to a strip club for his eighteenth birthday and his science teacher was on the pole doing ‘Hot for- HA!”

Castiel hadn’t realized his jaw had dropped open until Dean shoved the spoon in his mouth, nearly choking him. Dean continued to laugh as Castiel ripped the spoon from his mouth and swallowed the cold lump of ice cream whole. He could hear Melinda and Roy laughing, as well.

“Despite this show of affection,” Castiel started, ripping the napkin from Dean’s hand as the other man went to wipe at his mouth. “We are not, in fact, married.” Castiel gave Dean a shove and Dean’s face went slack.

“Wait, what?” Dean looked between Castiel and Melinda, his face going pale and Castiel rolled his eyes.

“You registered the car under our hyphenated names, dumbass.” Castiel shoved the book at Dean with more force than was necessary and Dean took it, eyes scanning before he looked back up at Castiel.

“Because it’s your car but I worked on it. Other people did that, look!” Dean points to a few other names in the list and Castiel sighed.

“They’re separated by slashes.”

“So we’re married, just because I failed remedial grammar?” Dean snatched it back, scowling. “That’s bullshit.”

Castiel sighed, taking the booklet from Dean and handing it back to Melinda. “I’m sorry for the confusion. He’s not stupid. Just straight.”

“Hey!” Dean smacked him hard on the arm. Castiel gave him a shove Dean wasn’t ready for and his sundae hit the ground with a splat that had both Dean and Roy rushing to their respective bumpers, whipping a towel from their back pockets and checking for any ice cream debris.

Both men sighed, righting themselves, finally, and sharing a look of  _ you good? _ before heaving another sigh of relief. Melinda met Castiel’s eyes and both had to look away lest they burst into laughter. Dean leaned down to scoop as much of the ice cream into the tray as he could before he shuffled over to the trash can and dropped it in. He was scowling when he stomped back over to Castiel.

Dean jabbed a finger in his face, “ _ You _ owe me a new sundae.”

Castiel was helpless to do anything but comply as Dean grabbed a handful of Castiel’s shirt and dragged him towards the ice cream shop while Roy and Melinda’s laughter followed in their wake.

#

Castiel found Dean’s genuine shock at making it to the finalists’ parade perplexing.

“After everything you did, you expected  _ not _ to make the finals?”

“Shut up, Cas. There’s a lot of nice cars here, alright?”

Dean’s face was pale, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. When he swayed, Castiel guided him down to the curb, the other man’s bow legs flying out from under him, heels thumping on the asphalt.

“Put your head between your knees and breathe through your nose and out your mouth.”

“I said, shut up!”

But Dean did as he was told and Castiel laid a hand on his shoulder, lowering himself to the curb next to Dean and rubbing up and down his back. People milled around them, snippets of conversation rolling over him in waves. Dean’s shirt was damp between his shoulder blades, the back of his neck red from the sudden flush of anxiety. Castiel took measured breaths for Dean to mimic while pretending he wasn’t and projected an aura of calm that was honed by years of working in chaotic emergency rooms and meeting people on the worst days of their lives.

After a moment Dean rolled his shoulders in irritation, shrugging off Castiel’s touch with a grumbled, “Ger’rof me.” Castiel showed Dean his palms and wrapped his arms around his knees, locking his fingers together and watching the crowd walk by. Dean wiped sweat from his upper lip, and while his green eyes were still panicked, his color was better. Dean drank from the water bottle Castiel offered him, chugging it down before bowing his head again, propping his elbows on his bent knees.

“You good?”

Dean’s voice was very small. “Yeah.”

“You wanna get some food?”

“Yeah.”

Castiel stood and held out a hand, pulling Dean to his feet. Their bodies collided, nose to nose, then Castiel felt everything around him fall away as Dean’s lips pressed to his. It was quick—maybe a millisecond of silence—before Dean pulled away and the sounds and smells of the festival rushed back in around them. They stayed like that for a moment, jostled by the crowd, while Dean’s terrified eyes held on Castiel’s stoic expression and he was betrayed by his heart hammering hard against Dean’s chest.

Dean took a step back, wiped the sweat from his upper lip (not the kiss, Castiel told himself when the hurt reared its ugly head) and turned away, walking as if his legs were made of jelly, away from Castiel and into the crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
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	19. Best of Intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean shows the Buick to the judges and Castiel finally picks a name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: graphic depiction of a sexual act, hand job, aborted sexual act (consent rescinded) internalized homophobia, homophobic language

Dean’s anxiety from the previous day was buttoned up tight as they waited—smack in the middle of the twenty finalists—for their turn with the judges. Castiel could feel him vibrating with it but doubted anyone else could. He was projecting strong and serious, every inch of his 6’1 frame evident in the straightness of his spine. His biceps were stretching the sleeves of his black v-neck, and his feet planted shoulder-width apart to make him look sturdy in a way that told everyone that a train couldn’t take this man out. Castiel had chubbed up at his first glance and had yet to recover.

When it was their turn, Castiel mimicked Dean’s stance, their shoulders brushing when Castiel shifted from foot to foot. Dean answered all of their questions from where he stood, not bothering to flit around the car like many of his competitors had done, pointing and opening doors and offering to rev the engine. He was polite and cracked the occasional joke, but his intent was clear. The car spoke for itself.

There was only a single moment of hesitation. “What made you choose Apollo White instead of the Saturn Yellow?”

The judge’s tone was casual, in a way that didn’t hint at preference, but that the wrong answer could potentially hurt them. Castiel’s heart seized in the silence, Dean opening his mouth to respond but nothing came out. If Dean lost because of some dumb choice of his, Castiel would never forgive himself.

“I wanted it.” Castiel’s voice was a low rumble, all the judges looking up at him in surprise. Dean sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, and whether it was nerves or amusement at their reaction, Castiel wasn’t sure. “Apollo White was the original color. The goal, again, as Dean has said, was to keep it cherry.”

The judge nodded with no expression, marking his card, and Dean leaned his head towards Castiel to mutter ‘nice job’ out of the corner of his mouth before squinting back out at the other judges. They were about to move on when the judge who asked about the color turned back again.

“What’s her name?”

Castiel blinked and looked at the car, saying the first name that came to mind. “Dean-“ Dean’s hand grabbed his wrist so hard he choked and covered it as a cough. “-erys. Uh. Daenerys.”

The judge blinked at him and Dean let out a manic laugh, clapping Castiel on the shoulder. “Yep, Daenerys. Of the House Targaryen. First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men,” Castiel looked at Dean, eyes wide but the other man continued to rattle on. “Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Lady Regent of the Seven Kingdoms,” Castiel began to worry Dean was going to run out of breath. “Breaker of Chains.” Dean sucked in a great breath, swallowing hard. “A-and Mother of Dragons.”

Castiel looked back at the judges finding them all staring wide-eyed at Dean. Castiel cleared his throat. “We call her ‘Dany,’ for short.”

The judges burst into laughter, nodding their heads and chattering about Game of Thrones as they moved on to the next car. Dean visibly deflated, gulping in great breaths as he turned away from the viewing field, towards the empty sidewalk behind them. Castiel gripped the back of his neck, leaning in to whisper, “You did great.”

Dean rested his head against Castiel’s cheekbone for one microsecond before he sucked in a great breath and shook it off, Castiel stepping back. Dean grinned at him then made a funny face, cocking his middle and forefinger with his thumb, pressing them against his temple and pulling the imaginary trigger. Castiel shook his head and smiled.

#

In all of Dean’s obsessive research on the car show and its rules and policies, he missed one salient detail.

When they announced the Best in Show winner, they shot off a confetti cannon.

Castiel was so confused, trying to protect his eyes, it took him a minute to register that Dean had bundled him up in a big bear hug, lifting his feet from the ground as he let out a high pitched  _ whoop _ that was swallowed by the cheer of the crowd.

Castiel blinked as they were assaulted with flashbulbs, turning his face away from the crowd. He immediately found Dean, who was looking up with childlike wonder as confetti fell and caught in his hair. Dean looked down and met his gaze, both men grinned so hard it hurt their faces. Dean smacked Castiel on the chest, right over the heart, twice, before ripping him into another bone-crushing hug. Castiel pressed his face into Dean’s neck to breathe in his skin before forcing himself back. Dean turned as they announced the trophy, two girls in prom dresses and crowns holding on to the sides while middle-aged men heaved the actual weight of the thing over to Castiel and Dean.

Dean clapped and grinned, wiggling his fingers in a come-hither motion and Castiel laughed as he heard Dean’s triumphant, “Come to papa!” The girls leaned in to kiss their cheeks and making eyes at them, and Castiel’s face burned as the flashbulbs intensified. He felt a tug at his sleeve and looked over to see Dean, lipstick prints on both cheeks, beckoning him over to help raise the trophy. It was nearly as tall as they were and when Castiel went to heft it up he huffed at the weight of the thing.

They were swarmed when they finally jumped off the stage, reporters corralling them away from each other, girls pressing in. Castiel didn’t know who to address, eyes roving over the myriad of faces. He craned his neck, looking for Dean then trying to inch closer, until a girl threw her arms around Dean’s neck and planted a wet kiss on his cheek. Dean was laughing and talking to someone, and then someone else with his arm still wrapped around the girl.

“Mr. Novak!” A man slid between him and Dean’s gaggle of fans, grasping Castiel’s hand hard enough to bruise. “I have been looking for this car for forty years. How much do you want for it?”

Castiel blinked. “Uh…”

“Whatever he offers you, I’ll double it!” Another man muscled his way in front of Castiel.

“Oh, come off it, Henry. You know I’ve been looking for a 455 Stage 1 for-”

Henry ignored Castiel’s first buyer. “I mean it. I’ll double whatever this guy offers you.”

“ _ He’s not accepting any offers! _ ” Dean’s voice boomed over the chattering crowd. Castiel met his eyes over the tops of everyone’s heads and Dean grinned, reaching out a hand for him.

Castiel stretched to grab it, holding on so that Dean could pull him through the crowd. Their hands stayed clasped as someone poured a bottle of champagne over their heads, then someone else handed Dean a bottle of his own and he shook it vigorously, spraying it on everyone around them.

Dean turned to Castiel then, green eyes luminous in the spotlight, flashbulbs washing across his face over and over. He pulled Castiel into a tight hug, fingers clutching hard at Castiel’s shoulder before he pulled back. Dean kept his arm wrapped around Castiel’s shoulder and he felt Dean’s temple rest against his for a brief moment. Then, quick as thought, he felt the press of lips against his cheekbone, the scratch of stubble against his own. Castiel’s eyes sank closed, feeling untouchable and lighter than he’d felt in months, with Dean by his side.

#

_ “If I leeeeeeeave here tomooooorrooooow would you still remember me?” _

“Dean…”

_ “For I must be traveling on, nooooow. Cause there's too many places I've got to see” _

“Dean…”

_ “But, if I staaaayed here with yoooou, giiiirl _ …er oops.”

Castiel chuckled, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re going to wake up the entire neighborhood.

“Who cares?!” Dean twirled around on loose legs, throwing his arms out. He was wearing a ball cap with a local Buick dealer’s logo and had an unopened bottle of champagne in his hand. “We won, Cas!” Dean spun to face forward again.  _ “Hmmm hmmm hmmm as free as a biiiiird noooow.” _

Castiel rolled his eyes but the smile plastered on his face negated any ill will he might have imparted. “Freebird, Dean? Really?”

_ “AND THIS BIRD YOU CAN NOT CHAAAAAAAANGE” _

Castiel tried to look stern as they entered the lobby of their hotel, but it was impossible. “Okay, mute.” Castiel pretended to click a remote at Dean, who turned to glare at him. Castiel gave a small wave to the front desk staff as they shuffled over to the elevators, the doors opened immediately. Castiel placed a hand on Dean’s lower back as he guided them in.

As soon as the doors closed, Castiel felt a hand close on his bicep and he was too drunk for that quick of a movement, feet tangling so that he thumped back hard against the elevator wall. Dean’s mouth was on his before he could even think to right himself, their shoes scrambling for traction, kicking each other in the ankles and tipping over the bottle that Dean sat down at their feet. They were laughing against each other’s lips, trying to right themselves when the doors dinged open on their floor. Castiel slapped a hand over Dean’s mouth and pressed a finger to his lips, eyes serious. Dean rolled his eyes but nodded.

They were definitely  _ not _ giggling the entire way down the hall to their room, Dean’s hands sneaking around Castiel’s waist, under the hem of his shirt, feeling his lower back, hipbones and tummy. Castiel pushed his hands away while fumbling their room key and found himself suddenly pressed back into the hotel room door, Dean’s hands holding his face steady as he kissed him, hungry and sloppy, grinding his hips hard into Castiel.

Castiel was having trouble thinking, the hard line of Dean’s erection riding his thigh as Dean’s mouth slipped over his chin, head dipping to suck at Castiel’s pulse point. Castiel was jabbing the key card around the lock, then finally into it. The beep sounded, he tugged, and they fell back into their room. Dean’s body thumped on top of his, feet kicking so that the door slammed so hard it rattled the walls.

Dean was on top of Castiel, knees planted on either side of his hips, pulling his own shirt over his head before bending down to kiss Castiel again, nails scratching at Castiel’s hip bones to try and pull up the hem of his shirt. Dean forgot about getting it off about halfway through, becoming distracted by Castiel’s chest, sucking rough kisses all across his collarbone, Castiel’s arms and head still stuck in the fabric.

“Dean?” Castiel struggled, the other man’s weight on him plus the feeling of his lips on his chest pinning Castiel back. “Little help? Dean?”

He heard Dean’s chuckle and then he was freed, revealing Dean’s grinning face, his hair sticking every direction. Castiel wondered if Dean knew he was giggling spastically as he reached down for his own belt and Castiel could only smile up at him, the joy emanating from Dean something he wanted to bask in for as long as he possibly could.

“Come on, pants off.” Dean stood and swayed ominously as he pushed his boxers and jeans down his legs, toeing out of his boots at the same time. “Want you to fuck me.”

“Someone’s eager.” Castiel teased, watching as Dean attacked his belt, then yanked the fabric down his legs, nearly ripping his foot off in an effort to get him out of his shoes.

“Don’t have a lot of time,” Dean mumbled against Castiel’s lips and Castiel laughed, hands sliding down Dean’s torso, head tilting back as Dean’s hand closed around his cock.

“We have all the time in the world,” Castiel moaned as Dean worked him slow and rough, his calloused hands chafing in just the right way to raise goosebumps on Castiel’s skin.

“Hmm-mmm,” Dean hummed, lips kissing up the side of Castiel’s neck. “Going home tomorrow.”

Castiel’s eyes flew open, hands falling from Dean’s sides to the floor and he groaned, head falling back against the carpet. “Why did you have to… get off me, Dean.” Castiel struggled to sit up, but Dean’s hand planted on his chest shoving him back down. “I said  _ get off me _ .”

Castiel pulled himself up as Dean forced himself backward, tumbling against the closet with a thump. Dean tried to right himself, bewildered by the sudden change in mood and finding Castiel sitting with his knees to his chest, his hands covering his face. Dean crawled clumsily forward on all fours.

“What’s wrong?”

Castiel’s hands fell to reveal stormy blue eyes and a forlorn expression. “What’s  _ always _ wrong?”

Dean blinked. “We aren’t in the front seat of-”

“We shouldn’t be  _ doing _ this.” Castiel’s voice was a growl as he forced himself to his feet, flopping down on the end of his made bed, holding his head in his hands.

“Hey…” Dean knee-crawled over to him. “Hey.” Dean’s hands closed around Castiel’s wrists, pulling his hands from his face. “Hey, come on.” Dean’s hands were cool against Castiel’s heated cheeks. “Don’t be like that. We won! We should celebrate.” Dean leaned in to kiss him and Castiel turned his face away. Dean heaved a sigh and lowered his own head. “Okay…”

“Dean, I told you. I can’t keep-”

“What do you want?”

Castiel blinked in shock as Dean planted his hands on the edge of the bed on either side of Castiel’s hips, his face determined, tongue slipping out to wet his lips. His head tilted to the side as he hummed in question at Castiel, urging him to speak.

Castiel’s brows furrowed. “What…what do you mean?”

“I mean, what’s it gonna take to get you on board with this?”

Castiel’s eyebrows raced to his hairline. “Ex _ cuse _ me?”

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes, waving his hands in front of him as if trying to wipe away his last statement. “I mean, what do I have to do to make you comfortable, here?” Castiel let his head fall back, a labored groan pulling from his chest, but Dean’s body moved with him, hands reaching for Castiel’s biceps to force him to look back into Dean’s face. “How do I stop you from doing this?” Dean gestured with his hand. “Stopping us mid… whatever. How do I fix it?”

“You can’t,” Castiel said with a sigh and Dean’s eyebrows drew down, bottom lip jutting out.  _ “ _ You… you won’t.” Dean’s eyebrows rose and Castiel rushed to amend. “You won’t because you can’t. Dean, we’ve had this conversation.”

Dean sat back on his heels, his head hanging back loose on his shoulders. “Oh,  _ God _ , is this about the gay thing  _ again _ ?”

Castiel felt rage boil in him. “Yes, Dean. It is about  _ the gay thing. _ Again.” Castiel rubbed his forehead. “Fuck.”

“Can you just… can you just try to explain to me why it’s so important?” Dean was looking at Castiel’s chest, not his face, so he missed Castiel’s eye roll, but Castiel managed to take a deep breath, trying to muster a sense of calm. Dean had asked and that was an important step. He had the right to an answer.

Castiel gathered Dean’s hands in his. “This might sound harsh, okay?”

“I’m a big boy, Cas,” Dean snapped and Castiel huffed air out of his nose in irritation. Dean pursed his lips and scowled back.

“I can’t be with someone who won’t admit they’re g-“

“ _ Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, Cas! _ ” Dean stood abruptly, spinning away from Castiel to punch at the air in frustration, and Castiel felt himself curl in. Dean stomped over to his suitcase, grabbing a handful of clothes. “That’s the problem with you people. You gotta have a fucking parade about it.”

Castiel flinched as the bathroom door slammed. He breathed out slowly as the shower turned on, feeling the beginning of his hangover set in as his temples throbbed. He couldn’t swallow whatever was lodged in his throat, his eyes were stinging, and he did what he’d always done since he was a little boy to keep from crying.

_ Love is patient, love is kind. _

_ It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. _

_ It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, _

_ it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. _

_ Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. _

_ It always protects, always trusts, _

_ always hopes, _

_ always perseveres. _

_ Love never fails. _

_ But where there are prophecies, they will cease; _

_ where there are tongues, they will be stilled; _

_ where there is knowledge, it will pass away. _

_ For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. _

_ When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. _

_ When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. _

_ For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. _

_ Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. _

_ And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. _

_ But the greatest of these is- _

“Hey.”

Castiel jumped, eyes flying open at the soft sound of Dean’s voice so close, and found him where he’d been before: kneeling in front of Castiel, this time in sleep pants and a t-shirt.

“Hey, I’m sorry I…” Dean’s hand lifted to cup the side of Castiel’s face, impossibly gentle, as if he expected Castiel to flinch away. “I shouldn’t have yelled like…” Dean swallowed hard, green eyes going glassy. “I would never hurt you, Cas-”

Castiel’s hand closed around Dean’s wrist, his other laying on Dean’s shoulder. “I know. I didn’t think you would.”

Dean heaved a sigh and for a moment Castiel was afraid he was going to hit the floor, his entire body going slack. “It’s no excuse,” Dean’s voice is barely a whisper before his eyes lifted to meet Castiel’s again. “But it’s the way I was raised.”

Castiel pressed his lips together and dipped his head in a nod. Dean rubbed a hand over his face. “My dad… he…” Dean stopped, sucking in an audible breath, “…and his friends…” Dean’s eyes were locked on Castiel’s collarbone, squinting at something only he could see. “And everyone else back home, I just…” Dean blinked hard and looked up, green eyes sorrowful and laced with so much pain that the lump in Castiel’s throat felt like it would choke him again.

_ Love is patient. _

“It’s not an option for me.”

_ Love is kind. _

“Castiel, if it was possible. If it was anyone…”

_ It is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. _

“I wish things were different…”

_ Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth _

Castiel dipped his head, closed his eyes, and rallied his voice. “I know.” Castiel cupped Dean’s face in one hand, thumb stroking the delicate skin under his eye. “And that’s why it isn’t an option for me.” Dean’s head bowed and Castiel felt his shoulders tense under his hand and squeezed. “I’m sorry.”

Dean looked up, green eyes full. Castiel felt his lips part as a single tear dribbled down Dean’s face before he reached up, pinching the bridge of his nose and wiping down with a sniff. He attempted a smile, and Castiel thought his throat was going to explode as Dean stood and turned to walk over to his own bed, laying down without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
> 
> [Visit me on Tumblr](https://deanwinchesterfirstofhisname.tumblr.com)   
> 


	20. Rumor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel returns home to a surprise and Dean makes a confession while out at Harvelle's with the three Novak brothers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: character death, homophobia with use of gay slurs, violence driven by homophobia, canon-typical violence

Dean and Castiel didn’t speak much on the ride home, both telling themselves they celebrated too hard and their nasty hangovers would clear up later in the day. Castiel had helped Dean unload all of his stuff, maneuvering the absurd trophy out of the backseat and into his garage.

“Here,“ Dean held out one of the blue ribbons. “You keep this one.”

Castiel showed his palms. “No, no, it means more to you. You keep it all.”

What little of a smile there had been on Dean’s face faded, his hand lowering slowly. “Uh… alright. Well, if you ever want any of it…”

Castiel gave him a small smile. They shifted on their feet, the setting sun rendering everything soft, fireflies dotting the driveway. Neither knew what to say.

“I… uh… guess I better go check on Howard.” Castiel gestured over his shoulder and Dean gestured back, nodding.

“Yeah. Hey, did you tell him we won?”

“No, I figured I would surprise him when I got home.”

“Tell him I said hi.”

“I’ll do that.” Castiel rocked on his heels before he turned awkwardly, shuffling over to the driver’s side.

“Cas?”

Castiel turned. “Yeah?” Dean held out a hand, keys dangling from one finger. Castiel felt his cheeks heat as he stepped over to take them. They stayed there for a beat, Castiel’s hand closed around Dean’s before Castiel finally turned away.

Dean’s hand caught his wrist. “Hey…” Castiel squinted back at him and Dean seemed to lose his nerve. He looked down and watched his boot scuff the concrete. “If you ever change your mind…”

Castiel gave him a sad smile. “I know where you are.”

Dean pressed his lips together and nodded, lifting a hand in farewell. Castiel turned to the car, forcing himself to get in and to pull away. He was doing the right thing. He was making the correct choice and as much as it hurt both of them, this was not something he would compromise on.

Castiel had to get himself together. He wiped at his face and flicked on the radio. Classic rock blared out at him, so he flicked it to a pop station and rolled the window down, letting his arm ride the wind as he cruised out of town. Castiel loved driving this stupid car. It wasn’t just the connection with Dean, but the feel of it under him, the roar of the engine. He never thought he’d be the kind of person that was proud of what he drove, but—small and maybe petty as it was—it was a small piece of joy in an otherwise joyless time in his life. It gave something for him and his father to talk about. Actually  _ talk _ , not just bicker.

It was nearly full dark when he pulled in the driveway of the old farmhouse, killing the headlights, not bothering to grab the duffle from the trunk. Howard wasn’t in the window, but he’d been going to bed earlier and earlier these days, even if he still didn’t go to sleep until around 11.

“Dad,” Castiel called as he stepped through the door, dropping his keys in the bowl on the table.

Castiel could hear the television in Howard’s room at top volume and rolled his eyes. The man was going stone deaf. He had to get him to an ENT for hearing aids. Castiel’s feet thudded dully down the hall and he stifled a yawn, stretching and feeling his back pop from sitting in a car all day.

“Dad, guess what?” Castiel hollered, rapping his knuckles hard on the cracked door. “We wo-”

Castiel’s throat strangled on the word as the door swung open. Castiel’s eyes fell on the empty bed before he saw Howard’s slippers just outside the bathroom door, his pale, blue-veined legs disappearing inside.

Castiel didn’t register that he was yelling. He just skidded towards Howard’s prone form, hand falling on an ankle that was cold and unmoving. When Castiel attempted to turn Howard over, his body rigid as a plank, Castiel’s memory decided to stop recording. It came back online when Gabriel skidded to a halt in front of him, and Castiel found himself on the couch in the living room, morning light streaming through the window, Howard’s seat empty.

#

“To Dad.”

Gabriel lifted his shot glass, leaning on the hightop and Castiel and Michael mimicked the action, clinking their glasses and downing them. Gabriel shuddered, Michael made a face and Castiel just stared down at the bowl of peanuts between them.

“You okay, man?”

Michael’s large hand closed around the back of Castiel’s neck and he nodded, looking down into his lap. Michael squeezed, swaying him back and forth a few times before letting him go, slapping him hard on the back. Gabriel had the shot glass pressed to his cheek, eyes lowered in thought. A smile curled at his lips.

“You remember how the old man used to do those vocal warm-ups every Sunday morning?”

Michael snorted, covering his face with his hand. “Oh, god.”

Gabriel leaned over the table and crossed his eyes, trilling his lips as he wiggled his head side to side. Michael leaned in, throwing his voice up in a “Hiiiiiiyah!” 

Gabriel cleared his throat and settled his face into an expression so uncannily Howard that Castiel grimaced. Gabriel then puckered his lips to make a “p-WAH” sound, opening his mouth as wide as it would go. Michael started to make a siren noise. Gabriel intoned “ _ MOMMA MADE ME MASH MY M&Ms _ ” in a low vibrato that had both men falling onto the table, laughing. Castiel forced one corner of his mouth up.

Michael sighed as he sat up. “I remember how every time he’d catch one of us with a girl, the next week’s sermon was always-“

Gabriel’s eyes widened, repeating, “Always!”

“Sins of the flesh,” they said in unison, rolling their eyes.

Gabriel scrunched up his face in that perfect imitation of Howard, “ _ For the mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God, for it does not submit to God's law _ ;”

Michael leaned in, holding up a finger. “ _ Indeed, it cannot.” _

Together, voices low and full of brimstone, “ _ Those who are in the flesh. CANNOT. PLEASE. GOD!” _

Both men shook their heads, wistful smiles pulling at their lips. “God, I can’t believe he’s gone.” Michael rubbed his face hard with both hands before folding his arms on the table with a sigh.

Castiel stood abruptly. “I’m going to get us more drinks.”

Castiel walked on legs that didn’t feel like his own. His body seemed to float through space, detached and wandering, and he was always surprised when he made it to his intended destination. He wasn’t sure if this was grief. When his mother died, he’d been still as stone, heavy as concrete, barely able to traverse from chair to bed to wake to gravesite, worried he’d leave indentations in the earth wherever he stepped.

“Hey, Cas.” Jo gave him a sympathetic smile as she leaned over the bar. “What can I get for you?”

“Three more beers, thanks, Jo.” He reached back for his wallet as she dug into the cooler next to her but a hand on his arm made him freeze.

“I got it.” Dean dropped a twenty on the bar which Jo took, uncapping an extra bottle for Dean. He hooked his elbow onto the bar, waiting for Jo to move on to another customer before speaking. “Hey, man. I heard.” The earnestness in Dean’s voice made Castiel turn and look at him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Dean. Thank you.” Castiel reached for the bottles and began to turn but Dean’s hand on his lower back stopped him, the touch brief but enough of an intimacy to startle Castiel to stillness.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Dean’s voice was tight and Castiel’s eyes met his, blinking in confusion.

“For what?”

Dean blinked, neck jerking as if he’d been struck. “I don’t know. To… to help with…getting him to the hospital…”

“He was dead. I just called the coroner.” Castiel must have said the wrong thing because Dean’s eyebrows rose, mouth parting in surprise. “I mean… I’m a nurse. I knew… you know. No point in sending an ambulance. They’re stretched thin as it is.”

Dean pressed his lips together, eyes tightening. “Yeah, but I still could have, I dunno, sat with you till your brothers got here, or something.”

“I appreciate that, but I was fine. I call the coroner pretty much every day.”

Dean huffed a disbelieving laugh. “But… this was your  _ dad _ , Cas.”

Castiel felt his insides roll over themselves and become nothing but air. He worried he would float away. “I was fine. I  _ am _ fine.”

“Cas.” Dean’s tone was beyond reproach and Castiel’s eyes met his, the other man’s face grim. “You’re not fine. You know… You know you can talk to me.” Dean pressed his lips together before he sighed. “You’re my best friend.”

Castiel snatched the bottles. “I cannot do this right now.”

“Cas-”

“Dean, if you give a shit about me at all, you’ll stop.” Castiel’s voice was soft but Dean winced as if he’d shouted. Dean gave a small nod, eyes still anxious.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” Gabriel shouldered past Castiel, widening the space between him and Dean. “Not trying to mess up your game here, bro, but you know Mikey can’t do warm beer.” Gabriel threw a look over his shoulder. “He’s a prima donna that…” Gabriel’s voice trailed off as he did a double-take. “Winchester?”

Dean gave Gabriel a tight smile, reaching up a hand to ruffle the hair at the back of his head. “Hey, Gabe. Long time.”

“Yeah, man. How’ve you been?” Gabriel turned and grasped Dean’s hand tightly. Castiel took the opportunity to back away, Dean’s eyes still tracking him.

“Oh, you know… if my life had a butt, I’d kiss it…”

Castiel staggered back to their table, finding Michael tapping away at his phone, which he stashed as Castiel set the bottles on the table. Michael reached out and clapped a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, fingers squeezing as he gave him a light shake. Castiel slid awkwardly onto his barstool.

“Look, Castiel, I-”

“Mikey! Look who I found!”

Castiel closed his eyes at Gabriel’s joyous exclamation, taking a long drink from his bottle.

“Well, I’ll be goddamned. Dean Winchester!”

“As I live and breathe.” Gabriel fanned himself and Dean snorted, giving him a shove.

“I’d say it’s good to see you, but frankly, one Novak brother in this town suited me just fine.”

Castiel’s eyes met Dean’s and the other man gave him a small smile. Castiel found himself returning it.

“Hey, seriously,” Michael stood and offered Dean his hand which Dean took, chin tipping wearily. “All the work you did on that old Buick.” Michael shook his head. “Dad was happier than I’d heard him in  _ years.” _

Castiel blinked, eyes meeting Dean’s again as both looked at each in mild surprise. “O-oh… well uh it was a pleasure. Cas tell you we won Best In Show down in Wichita?”

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice was a warning as both brothers turned to look at him.

“No, he did not.” Gabriel threw an arm around Castiel’s shoulder. “Didn’t mention anything at all about Wichita. Why’s’at, Kitten?” Gabriel pinched at Castiel’s cheek and Castiel punched him solidly in the ribs, causing Gabriel to oof.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Here, take a look.” Dean sidled up to Michael holding out his phone and Gabriel crowded over, too. “That’s her in the stall,” Dean swiped through, showing the Buick from all angles, Michael and Gabriel’s grins mimicking Dean’s but nowhere near as bright. Castiel felt a sudden rush of affection for the men in front of him, shook his head and took another drink.

Gabriel laughed. “You do the poster board, there, Nerdstiel?”

“Nah, that was me,” Dean waved away the comment before Castiel could retort. “That’s Cas buying me a sundae because he knocked mine on the ground.”

“I did not. Did you really take a picture of me in that-”

“Whoa, wait a minute. What’s this one?” Gabe swiped back as Dean tried to bypass a few photos. “Look at this GQ motherfucker.” Gabriel grinned at Castiel. “You take these?”

Gabriel grabbed the phone and turned it out for Castiel to see while Dean rolled his eyes. Castiel felt his lips quirk at the corners seeing Dean slouched in the driver’s seat, the afternoon sun splintering through the window so everything around the car was white light. Dean’s face was set into a neutral expression that just happened to be devastatingly stunning, his bicep stretching the arm of his t-shirt, one wrist hanging casually over the steering wheel. “Yes, that was as we were getting ready for the finalists’ parade. Dean was waiting to pull into line.”

“Nice Blue Steel, Winchester,” Michael teased as Gabriel pulled the phone back and Dean snatched it.

“ _ Anyway _ , here’s where we won Best Original Restoration,” Dean swiped. “And Best in Class.” Dean swiped. “And Best in Show.” Dean beamed as Gabriel snatched the phone again

“Holy shit, that trophy is damn near as big as you!” Michael looked up at Castiel in awe.

“Oh, damn, look at this!” Gabriel and Michael leaned in as Dean’s face went blank before it reanimated in a spastic chuckle.

“Uh, yeah. The after-party was… whew!”

“You guys are so cute.” Gabriel made a face, turning the phone to Castiel. It was a selfie of himself and Dean, hair plastered down with Champagne, grinning like idiots, heads tilted towards each other almost close enough to touch. Champagne clung to Dean’s eyelashes and Castiel still had lip prints on his cheeks. They looked happy.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Michael punched Castiel in the arm and he rubbed it absently, giving an aborted shrug as he met Dean’s gaze, who pressed his lips together, eyes contrite.

“Winchester, what do you say to a friendly game of pool?” Gabriel slung an arm around Dean’s shoulders and Michael grinned.

“Guys,” Castiel sighed, suddenly exhausted. “Don’t.”

“Yeah, whaddaya say? Doubles?” Michael nudged Dean’s arm and hen looked between Castiel’s two brothers, lips quirked in an uneasy smile.

“No, no, I don’t want to interrupt your… uh, grieving process… family time, whatever. Just came to say hello.” Dean lifted a hand and attempted to back away but Gabriel’s arm around his back stopped him.

“Don’t be silly, Dean! We bury our emotions in alcohol and games of luck, like every other red-blooded American male!” Gabriel threw out his other arm, and that’s when Castiel realized they’d probably had too much to drink.

“You’re actually helping in the process,” Michael crossed his arms over his chest and leaned closer. “Besides, I seem to remember you were pret-ty handy with a cue, back in the day.”

“He still  _ is  _ handy with a cue. Don’t test him.”

“Didn’t know you were paying such close attention, there, Cas,” Dean gave him a winning smile and Castiel returned a bored look that made Dean grin wider.

“Well, if he’s so good, he can be stuck with  _ you _ ,” Michael replied and Gabriel threw his head back in a cackle as the two of them made their way over to the billiards room, grabbing an empty table.

Dean and Castiel just looked at each other. “I can bail out if you want.”

“No, it’s fine.” Castiel slid off his barstool. “I apologize in advance for making you lose.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I don’t lose.” Dean’s hand met Castiel’s lower back briefly as he ushered Castiel in front of him.

Castiel fought a shiver, focus suddenly razor sharp. The brush of Dean’s arm against his as they left the bar room, the soft cotton of his henley brushing along Castiel’s skin, the heat of Dean’s body, evident even in the barest contact. The billiards room was significantly brighter than the bar, two tables in a smaller room. Dean fist-bumped with a guy from the group at the other table before shuffling over to the selection of cues on the wall. Michael and Gabriel already had theirs, watching Dean as he picked one, held it up to his eye to look down the length and put it back. He did this several times before handing a cue to Castiel and picked one for himself.

“You ready, Eddie?” Gabriel grinned at his own joke and Dean returned a tart smile, planting the end of his cue on the floor. Castiel mimicked his stance.

“Rack ‘em, Fats.”

As Gabriel corralled all the balls into the rack, Dean reached for the chalk and leaned closer to Castiel, . “You ever play doubles?”

Castiel watched Dean chalk the end of the cue and blow on it before chalking it again. He swallowed hard. “Nope.”

“I go, you go, till one of us misses. Then they do the same until one of us sinks all of ours and we go after the 8-ball.”

“What colors are we?”

Dean turned to look at Castiel, who stared back at him, unblinking. Dean fought a smile, clearing his throat on a soft breath of a laugh as he laid a gentle hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “Break determines that, bud.”

Castiel’s mouth formed a soft _ oh _ as he gave a nod and Dean shook his head, blinking slow and taking a drink of his beer.

“Castiel, break,” Michael nodded at the triangle at the end of the table, Gabriel setting aside the rack and Castiel sighed, starting to move around the table.

He ran into Dean’s outstretched arm. “Nice try, guys.”

Dean ambled around the end of the table and Castiel stood back, watching as Dean positioned the cue ball before he bent at the waist. Castiel had to admit that even in his grief-addled state it was a striking picture: Dean stretched long, the dip of his lower back as he arched, one foot in front of the other. His fingertips rested delicately on the table, cue cradled in the space between his thumb and forefinger, sliding back and forth before a quick jerk of his other hand sent the cue ball into the others with a satisfying clap.

Two solids fell into a center and corner pocket, a self-satisfied look on Dean’s face as he handed the chalk to Castiel. Castiel frowned at the table, chalking his cue and moving around to look for an easy shot. Dean cleared his throat and Castiel looked at him. He gestured between the cue ball and two-ball that was nestled close to the opposite corner pocket, sitting dangerously close to a stripe. Dean used his palm to shield his other hand using his forefinger to point left and then open flat, making the international signal for  _ easy _ . Castiel gave an imperceptible nod and leaned over to line up his shot.

“Hey, Kitten, are you still afraid of cows?”

Castiel pressed his lips together tightly, the cue ball rolling to hit just left of the blue two, but nudging it hard enough for it to fall in. Dean fist pumped before offering his knuckles for Castiel to bump with his own. Dean slapped him on the back as he rounded the table to take his shot.

“Why do you call him Kitten?” Dean asked, eyes focused on the table as he chalked his cue.

“Gabriel had trouble saying his name when Castiel was born. It always came out  _ Cat-stee-el _ .”

“A common problem for small children,” Gabriel added and Michael nodded amiably.

“Led to a bevy of feline-related nicknames.” Michael held up a finger. “Kitten.”

“Kitty,” Gabriel supplied, Michael putting up another digit.

“Kit-Kat.”

“Dr. Meow Meow.”

Dean chuckled as he bent over to take his shot and Castiel huffed. “That was  _ not _ one of them.”

Dean sunk the red three and walked towards Castiel, mouthing  _ 4\. Center pocket. _ And flicked his hand indicating  _ straight on _ . Castiel sighed, getting into position. He focused on the white ball, letting breath pass his lips slowly. His arm cocked back.

“Remember when you asked your second-grade teacher if she was a member of the mile-high club?”

The cue ball tapped the purple four into the pocket and Castiel glared at Gabriel. Dean was fighting to keep a straight face. Michael didn’t bother.

“In his defense, she was pretty hot.” Michael rubbed at his chin and Gabriel gave him a deadpan look.

“He’s  _ gay _ , Michael.”

“Dean, are we winning?” Castiel’s voice was light as he moved to stand next to Dean while the other man surveyed the table.

“Why, I do believe we are, Cas.” Dean cocked his head at Castiel and smiled at him fondly. Castiel didn’t smile but turned to his brothers with a self-satisfied look.

“You wouldn’t happen to be helping our brother dearest, would you, Dean?” Gabriel batted his eyelashes. “That would be unsportsmanlike.”

“Oh, like your running commentary every time he goes to shoot?” Dean cocked his head at Castiel, bending over and sinking an impressive shot all the way across the table, dropping the green six into a corner pocket.

The next shot looked impossible. The cue ball was surrounded by 3 other balls, the only solid left on the table, aside from the eight-ball, was hanging precariously near a corner pocket. Castiel looked at Dean forlornly. Dean pursed his lips.

“You guys mind if I teach him how to sink this?”

Michael and Gabriel’s eyebrows raised, looking at each other. “You can’t sink that.”

Dean flashed them a grin that made Castiel slightly dizzy as he chalked both his cue and then Castiel’s. “Watch us.”

Dean crowded into Castiel’s space, pinching at the sleeve of his shirt to tug him into the right spot. Castiel’s spine stiffened as Dean’s hand flattened against the middle of his back.

“Yeah, fine,” Gabriel sighed, leaning back against the sideboard. “Probably won’t have the opportunity again. You’ve already bought your ticket, right?”

“Okay, so you’re gonna wanna aim for half the rail.” Dean used his cue to point but Castiel was distracted.

“Me?” Castiel tore his eyes from where Dean was pointing. “Ticket where?”

“The fuck outta here,” Michael said with a laugh, bringing his beer to his lips, and Castiel felt Dean’s body go rigid next to him, fingertips pressing harder into his back.

“Uh… n-no, not yet.”

Dean stepped back from him and the space between them suddenly felt enormous. “Shit,” Gabriel grumbled, digging for his wallet as Michael laughed and held out his hand. Gabriel fished out a bill and slapped it into Michael’s palm, who made a show of pocketing it gleefully.

“You placed bets on whether or not I was going to stay?” Castiel frowned at them and the back of Dean’s fingers thwapped hard against his bicep. Castiel flinched against the sting.

“Focus. You’re gonna wanna hit more on the side-pocket side than the rail side.” Dean leaned closer to Castiel again as he gestured with his whole hand. “Because the further out you hit the more of a chance you have of the ball skewing off that way.” Dean flicked his hand towards the other end of the table.

“No, just on how quick you’d leave,” Michael snorted and Castiel chanced a look at Dean, finding him standing with his arms crossed, eyes scowling darkly at his brothers. “Gabe figured you’d have a ticket before we even got here. I gave you enough credit to at least wait until after the funeral.” Michael shook his head.

Dean’s arm flung out, nudging Castiel. “Get in position.”

Castiel leaned over, pressing his fingers to the felt and jumped when Dean tapped the toe of Castiel’s shoe with the side of his boot, encouraging him to kick his back leg further out. Dean leaned over with him, a hand on his middle back.

“Okay, you’re gonna hit center,” Dean pointed, indicating the middle of the cue ball. “There.” Dean turned his head, green eyes searching Castiel’s for a brief moment before straightening up. “Let ‘er rip.” He started to walk around the table then stopped, holding out a hand. “Not too hard.”

Castiel snorted, the end of his cue skittering off the ball and it rolled weakly, sinking into the side pocket. Dean closed his eyes and sighed. Castiel straightened up and grimaced, eyes contrite, but Dean just shook his head.

“My fault.” Dean grabbed his beer off the sideboard and handed it to Castiel. “I distracted you.”

Michael was leaning over to take his shot and Castiel swallowed down the drink he just took. “Hey, Mikey, remember when you rode your bike into that parked car?”

Dean had to turn to the wall and grab his nose to avoid spraying beer all over the table. Gabriel’s knees went weak, he was laughing so hard. Michael scratched, the cue ball spinning in place, and he scowled at his little brother, blue eyes stormy. Gabriel grabbed Michael’s shoulder, sucking in great breaths to try and control himself.

“Mom made you get glasses, but it turned out you didn’t need glasses and they just made your vision worse.” Gabriel rested his forehead on Michael’s shoulder. The older man finally shook his head, mouth twisting in an attempt not to smile.

“Yeah, and they just kept increasing the prescription until Mom took me to a different doctor, who had me do all the tests again and said-”

Castiel cleared his throat, putting on an impressive southern drawl. “Ma’am, your son’s vision is better than mine.”

Dean chuckled, shaking his head, shuffling back into place to try and take the shot that Castiel had missed. The other three men stood quietly and watched as Dean made it look effortless, the cue ball hitting at just the right spot to ride along the rail and knock the seven-ball in the pocket.

“Nice shot, Winchester.”

Castiel’s eyes closed, the familiar voice grating down his spine like nails on a chalkboard.

“Always heard you loved handling wood.”

Dean just smirked. “I sure do know how to put it in the hole.” He grinned, all teeth. “Just ask your mom.”

“Well, if it ain’t the Alastair boys,” Gabriel leaned on his cue, his normally sunny smile dark with dislike. “Thought you all’d be in jail by now.”

Pete Alastair smiled more bared teeth than anything else. “Wrong side of the bars. I’m Sheriff's deputy.”

“That explains it,” Gabriel hit Michael on the chest with the back of his hand. “Thought I smelled something dirty.”

“Only thing dirty in here is your faggot brother.”

“There it is,” Castiel muttered with a sigh as Michael and Gabriel slapped their cues down.

“Gentlemen!” Dean stepped between them, holding his hands up. “And I use that term loosely.” Dean cleared his throat. “We’re just finishing up our game and we’ll be on our way.” Dean’s eyes held on the deputy, then to his brother, and made sure to land on every other face around the opposite table. “Cas, take your shot.”

_ “Caaaaas,”  _ Someone from the corner intoned in a high-pitched voice, snickers rippling through the group as Pete racked up.

The eight-ball was about ten inches from the side pocket, the cue ball behind it and a little to the side. It wasn’t a hard shot, per se, but he had to have the angle right. And the force. Castiel wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans before chalking his cue and moving to where he thought he wanted to shoot from. He didn’t look at Dean. If he missed it, he missed it. He heard the break shot from the other table, shoulders loosening now that he was relatively sure the others were focused on their own game instead of him.

Castiel sucked in a deep breath, leaned over, lined up and-

His cue skidded along the felt and, feeling a sharp jab at the seat of his pants, Castiel squeaked involuntarily as he straightened. The group behind them bellowed with laughter, the sound flaming in his ears and cheeks as he immediately turned to face them, chin up, eyes a deep stormy blue.

The smack of Dean’s pool cue hitting the table echoed and his shoulder bumped Castiel’s as he stomped over, gathering up the other Alastair brother before Castiel could get a hand around his arm.

“Whoa, whoa, Dean-o!” Greg Alastair held up both hands, a smirk on his rat-like face. “It was an accident!”

“Fuck you, an accident,” Dean snarled, face close to the other man’s. “I warned your redneck buddies, anyone fucks with him again and they’ll be shitting out their teeth for a week. Don’t think just cause we work together, you’re exempt.”

“What I don’t get is…” Zachariah stepped forward and Castiel felt a stone drop into the pit of his stomach. The older man was casually leaning on his pool cue, eyes sweeping the room but never landing on Castiel. “Why you’re so invested. It’s like…” Zachariah scoffed and shook his head, as if this thought was too absurd to be true. “It’s like he’s your girlfriend, or something.”

Dean’s jaw tightened, the fury in his eyes hot enough to melt, body tight as a coil ready to spring. Castiel sighed, nudging past him, feeling Dean’s surprise rather than seeing it on his face.

“Dean isn’t gay,” Castiel said it loud enough that, hopefully, his voice would carry into the barroom, as well. “He’s just… my mechanic.” Castiel’s eyes dropped to the floor, feeling the group's laughter beginning to build, even if it hadn’t started yet.

“No,” Dean’s voice was stern but Castiel refused to meet his eyes.

“Okay, and we’re friends, I guess. Whatever.” Castiel flung a hand, sweeping away the comment as if it weren’t important He looked back at his brothers who were standing at the end of the pool table, bodies weary but taut, ready for anything that might come next. Castiel opened his palm to them.

“No,” Dean repeated pointedly. “I’m  _ not _ gay.” Castiel fought the urge to roll his eyes, turning to leave the room. “I like girls, too, so I guess I’m bi.”

Castiel felt as if he were moving in slow motion, heart hammering so hard in his chest that surely the entire bar could hear it. His mouth was open, but he couldn’t seem to shut it. His eyes lifted and found Dean’s staring right back, unsure but fighting to hide it.

“That’s… that’s what it is, right? Wh-when-“ Dean’s voice jumped and he cleared his throat. “When you like both?”

Dean’s face was tomato red as opposed to Castiel’s sheet white. They could only blink at each other, too stunned to speak, and neither really knowing what to say.

“Wait a minute.” Greg Alastair’s voice seemed to ring in the silence as he stepped closer to Dean, and his stance was all menace. Castiel reached forward. “You’re telling me that you,” Alastair paused, eyes tightening in disbelief, “ John Winchester’s boy-”

Dean’s head snapped to face him. “Like sucking dick? Yes, I am.” Dean’s tone was matter-of-fact, almost proud, and Castiel snatched his hand back, covering his face with it.

Stepping into Alastair’s personal space, Dean chest-bumped the taller man, making him scramble back, hitting the pool table with a thud. “What are you so fucking scared of, Alastair?” Dean’s eyes were flat with contempt. “It’s not like either of us are interested in your ugly ass.” Dean snorted, looking the other man up and down with a sneer. “Saw your dick in the locker room during football practice and you ain’t nothing to-”

Alastair reared back, socking Dean solidly in the mouth. He stumbled back and caught himself on the other pool table, hand lifting to probe at his busted lip and coming away bloody. Gabriel and Michael were already clambering forward but Castiel was closer. He stepped right into Alastair’s path, shoving hard at his chest. Alastair was forced to back-pedal momentarily, before rushing forward with a roar. Keeping his eyes on Alastair, Castiel stood stock still while feeling Dean scrambling up behind him. He turned at the last moment, ducked his head, and threw up an elbow; the sickening crack of teeth breaking echoed in the small space.

It was an all-out brawl, then, fists flying and feet kicking. Dean broke a pool cue over someone’s back. Someone bashed Michael’s face into the side of a pool table as Gabriel swept someone else’s feet out from under them, the back of their head cracking on a barstool before they hit the ground. Someone smashed a bottle against the side of Dean’s head and Castiel drove them so hard into the rack of pool cues two of them snapped in half.

“ _ What the hell is going on back there!” _ Ellen Harvelle’s voice rang from the front of the house. Michael and Gabriel shared a look before springing into action.

Gabriel grabbed onto Castiel’s shirt, pushing him through the doorway as Michael hooked an arm through Dean’s to throw him forward before setting off at a run. The Alastair boys were on their heels, followed by a few others. Castiel spun around tables while sidestepping patrons, glancing back to make sure that everyone was still behind him. He was met with Gabriel’s palm to the side of his face, forcing his eyes forward again.

“They’re behind us, go! Go!”

They barreled through the door, Castiel skidding through the gravel. Michael and Gabriel made a run for the Buick while Dean ran towards him. Castiel shouted for his brother, Michael’s head lifted and Castiel lobbed his keys over several cars, Michael barely making the catch as they threw themselves into the car and Michael started it up.

Dean was shoving Castiel toward the Impala, yelling at him to haul ass. Castiel would have been impressed by Dean sliding Bo Duke-style across the hood if he hadn’t been so worried about Pete Alastair, who was only an arm’s length from reaching him. The passenger-side door flew open as the engine turned over and Castiel vaulted in, head colliding with Dean’s shoulder as Pete’s hand clamped around his ankle. Dean’s arm hooked under Castiel’s, curling and locking under his armpit while reaching for the gearshift, putting her in reverse and keeping Castiel from being dragged out of the car at the same time.

Dean punched the gas, arm uncurling from under Castiel’s to grab onto his belt, instead, and Castiel’s arm wrapped around Dean’s middle as the acceleration tried to throw him into the floorboard. His ankle was released with the sound of a crack and a howl, Dean catching sight of Pete’s elbow bent entirely the wrong direction in the Impala’s headlights.

Dean accelerated harder, gritting his teeth as one hand gripped the wheel while the other held tight to Castiel’s belt as he curled into a ball. The passenger side door swung shut with a mighty thud and Dean finally let go, applying the brakes and slamming it into Drive, the car spinning until it was in line with the highway. Dean punched the gas again and they took off like a shot.

Castiel’s breath was a train he couldn’t catch. The acrid taste of adrenaline was making his mouth water and he felt he might throw up. He pressed his face harder into Dean’s ribs, feeling his heart slamming against his skin as if trying to escape.

“You’re okay, buddy.” Dean’s hand thumped twice on Castiel’s hip. “I gotcha.” Dean’s hand dug into Castiel’s hair, tugging tight, before scratching blunt nails against his scalp. “Fuck… we’re gonna be alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
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	21. Till There's Nothing Left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel cleans everyone up and Dean comes to terms with what he's done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Drunk Driving, canon-typical gore, internalized homophobia,

Castiel stared blankly out the window as they passed through dark fields, the smell of fresh-cut grass closing Castiel’s sinuses and making his eyes water. Dean’s arm rested on the seatback, not touching Castiel but reminding him Dean was there, grounding him. Their father had been dead for less than 24 hours and they were getting into bar fights. Castiel rubbed his face hard.

They pulled into Castiel’s driveway and the house was dark. Castiel felt that strange sense of floating again, both expecting Howard to be in the window and dreading the fact that he wasn’t. Dean’s hand reached to cover Castiel’s where it sat on his thigh, and it was like he’d been sucked back into his body, the effect jarring. 

Sitting in the dark, Castiel looked over at Dean. His green eyes were vivid in the dim light of the dashboard and Castiel was brought back to that first night in the Impala, the anticipation and the uncertainty. Dean had been just as beautiful then, even though Castiel had only gotten his profile, not the full force of his perfect face, eyes steady on his in the dark.

“You’re bleeding.” Castiel’s voice was dull, devoid of emotion, and Dean reached up to poke at the cut at his temple, wincing hard.

“So are you.” Dean reached out to brush his fingertips along Castiel’s cheekbone and he grimaced, shying away from the touch.

Headlights swung through the night as a vehicle zoomed down the road, straight towards them. Dean’s arm went instinctively around Castiel before he realized it was the Buick, Gabriel and Michael turning into the grass next to the driveway, bouncing hard off the gravel, and skidding sideways. Castiel heard the squeak in the back of Dean’s throat as he clutched him tighter, bracing them both for an impact that never came. Dean let out a shaky sigh, entire body going limp against the seat.

“ _ Whoo!” _ Gabriel yelled at the top of his lungs, head thrown back to the sky as he climbed out the passenger’s side while Michael crawled after him and promptly dropped to his knees to vomit.

“Those fuckers.” Dean muttered, flinging his door open. “Probably fucked the suspension all to hell.”

Castiel stared blankly as Dean slammed the door behind him, rounding the front of the Impala to yell at Gabriel to shut up. Castiel’s eyes fell on the keys still in the ignition and he turned the car off, scooting across the bench seat to crawl out the driver’s side. There was only a foot or so of space between the Impala and the Buick.

“Come inside.” Castiel’s voice, though soft, still resonated through the air, and the other three men stopping their bickering to watch him trudge up the walk. “Let’s get all of you cleaned up.”

#

It was ice and frozen vegetables, all around, while Castiel went into triage mode. He sent Gabriel for the first aid kit while he pressed gentle thumbs around Michael’s eye socket, much to his brother’s dismay.

“Ow, ow, ow! Christ, Castiel.  _ Stop _ .”

“You don’t have a maxillary fracture or an orbital fracture.”

“Great. What do I have?” Michael winced as Castiel pressed a bag of peas to the side of his face.

“A low pain tolerance.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Michael groused, holding the bag to his face. He shook out one of his hands. “I think my finger is broken.”

“Is it this one?” Gabriel asked, returning to the room while flipping his brother the bird. Micheal kicked out, barely missing Gabriel’s kneecap as he backed away.

“Gabe, sit down. Does anything hurt?”

“Yeah, my feelings.” Gabriel did, then punched Castiel hard on the arm as he passed by to press a dishtowel against Dean’s temple. “You never said there was some kind of gay panic here.”

Dean gave a hiss at the cold pressure of the cloth but waved Castiel off, sagging against the counter. 

Castiel glared at Gabriel over his shoulder, shifting to paw through the junk drawer. Gabriel was undeterred. “Has it been that way the entire time?”

The silence stretched. Castiel found what he was looking for and dropped it on the counter before going to the sink to wash his hands. Michael’s eyes tracked his brother’s movement before the bag fell from his eye.

“Answer your brother, Castiel.”

The command in his voice was all Howard and Castiel exploded.

“ _ Would it have changed anything? _ ” Castiel shook out his hands, flinging water everywhere. “Would either of you have come here to stay with our dying father, instead?” Castiel’s eyes landed on Michael and then Gabriel, both men looking into their laps. Castiel heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner so you could have come up with better jokes for the duration of the trip.” Castiel gestured to the table, grumbling, “Dean, sit down. Your head needs to be glued.”

Dean did as he was told, the silence in the kitchen stretching as Castiel pulled on gloves and poured alcohol over the wound. Dean hissed at the sting, eyes burning from the fumes despite Castiel’s effort to shield them with a towel.

Gabriel spoke first. “You… you thought we were gonna make fun of you for…?” Gabriel’s voice died and his face screwed up in fury, a carbon copy of Howard on the pulpit in his early days. “Castiel! What the fuck, man?”

Castiel didn’t respond, just picked up a pair of tweezers. Dean’s fingers fell to his wrist.

“What are you doing?” Dean’s voice was thin.

Castiel leaned around the towel to make eye contact with him. “Picking the glass out of your head.” Dean let out a petulant whine, his boots kicking against the tile in displeasure. Castiel rolled his eyes. “There’s not much, just hold still.”

“We would  _ never _ make fun of you for that.” Gabriel continued, still offended. “We would have come out here and delivered that ass-whooping  _ months _ ago!”

Castiel snorted a laugh despite himself, “It wasn’t of import.” He pulled a large sliver of amber glass from Dean’s temple, and Dean shuddered.

Michael reached out and hit Dean on the arm, hard enough to jostle even Castiel’s steady hand. “Why didn’t you step in?” Dean tried to look at Michael around Castiel’s arm. He looked deadly. “You can fuck my brother, but you can’t-”

“ _ Michael! _ ” Castiel’s voice was like a crack of thunder, every man in the room cowering for a half-second before regaining their composure.

Dean opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then opened it. Then blinked. Castiel sighed.

“He’s not out, okay?” Castiel dropped another sliver of glass onto the table and laid the tweezers down, picking up a tube of super glue. “You can’t just-”

“Wait, are you  _ super gluing  _ my head?”

“Well, he’s certainly out now!” Gabriel clapped Dean on the shoulder and Castiel had a feeling the way Dean’s face blanched had nothing to do with his treatment. “Announced you suck dick to the whole bar. That’s gotta be some kind of… I dunno…” Gabriel shook his head, pressing a bag of tater tots to his ribs with a wince.

Castiel was pressing the sides of Dean’s wound together for the few seconds it took for the glue to dry when he noticed Dean’s hands beginning to shake where they rested on his knees. Castiel could feel the panic radiating off of him, saw the way his chest was beginning to rise and fall rapidly.

Castiel peeled his gloves off. “Guys.”

“Yeah, that took some balls.” Michael shook his head. “In a town like this?” Michael whistled.

“ _ Guys _ !” Castiel’s voice was harsh as Dean stood, kicking the chair out from underneath him to stagger over to the counter, one hand pressed against his mouth.

The room was silent, tension seeming to smuggle all the air from the space. Castiel counted heartbeats, wanting to go to Dean but knowing if he did so in front of his brothers, he’d get nowhere. Dean’s hands were on his hips, head bowed. Gabriel and Michael looked at each other with wide eyes. Gabriel’s chair creaked.

“Well,  _ this _ is awkward.”

Michael stood from his chair, wobbled for a moment, and then blinked his vision clear. “Yep, let’s go see if we can find our old hiding spot out in the barn.”

“Great idea, Mikey!”

Castiel covered his face with his hands as his brothers shuffled out before dropping them to call over his shoulder. “Gabe, don’t let him fall asleep! He might have a concussion!”

“Sure thing, Dr. Meow Meow!”

Castiel’s eyes closed, a rush of embarrassment washing over him, but he was pretty sure Dean wasn’t hearing anything outside of his own head at the moment. The sound of his brothers’ voices slowly faded away, and that suffocating silence returned while neither of them moved.

“Dean…”

“I just… I just…” Dean turned slowly, reaching up a hand to wipe down over his mouth, blinking rapidly. “I just came out.”

Dean’s face looked stunned as if the realization of what had happened just hit him. He slumped back against the counter, his mouth open as he stared, glassy-eyed, at the floor. Castiel said his name again, standing slowly, but Dean just shook his head. Castiel watched a single tear track down his cheek, but when he looked up at Castiel the smile on Dean’s face was radiant.

“I… told and… nothing happened.” Dean blinked in disbelief.

Castiel placed a hand on his arm. “You were punched in the face.”

Dean waved a hand, his face scrunching as if that were a minor detail. “Yeah, but besides that. I didn’t… like…” Dean’s hands curled in front of him, as if he could grab the words he was looking for out of thin air.

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Burst into flames?”

Dean let out a manic laugh, grinning so wide that Castiel pressed his fingers to the cut on Dean’s head to make sure it didn’t split from the strain. “Yeah!”

Castiel rolled his eyes but watched as Dean’s beaming smile began to dissolve, eyes filling as he worked his jaw back and forth against the tiny breaths hiccuping in his throat. Castiel grabbed for Dean’s arms, watching as it hit Dean full-force. He wasn’t hiding anymore. Dean reached up with one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, the hiccups turning to gasps as he curled into himself and Castiel pulled him in.

Dean wasn’t the first person Castiel had held through this, but Castiel had never felt the ache of it like this before. His own body pulsed with Dean’s wracking sobs, which he tried to shove back with a fist in his mouth. Castiel pressed his face to Dean’s hair, smelling beer and a hint of smoke from the bar, rubbing his back in soothing circles and letting his voice vibrate words of comfort low into his skin.

When Dean calmed down a little, enough so that his muscles stopped spasming and he could actually open his eyes, Castiel took them upstairs, stripped them down, and nudged Dean into the shower. Castiel washed him reverently, massaging shampoo into his hair, watching the water go from pink to clear. Castiel allowed himself to float away as he soaped Dean up and down, drew the suds in infinite swirls over his chest and back, lifted his hands to run the sponge between every finger as their eyes met in the spray.

Dean leaned in to kiss him and Castiel froze, grounded suddenly by the lurch in his chest, the pull towards Dean. Castiel didn’t even have to push him away. Dean’s eyes opened and he leaned back, tongue moving over his bottom lip. Castiel was reminded instantly of a snippet of a song that had run through his head when he’d first looked in those eyes.  _ Yours are the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen _ .

“Your Song,” he muttered to himself, not realizing he’d said it out loud until a smile tugged at Dean’s lips.

“Like Elton John?” Dean’s head tilted to the side in a strange imitation of Castiel’s usual mannerism. Dean took a breath and paused, eyes meeting Castiel’s again as if debating before they lowered again to Castiel’s lips, his smooth baritone rolling over Castiel like a wave. “ _ Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen” _

“This doesn’t change anything,” Castiel blurted as Dean leaned in for another kiss. He stopped abruptly, eyes focusing sharply, and Castiel felt lanced by the pain he saw reflected there for the beat that Dean allowed him to see it.

Dean’s hands slid down Castiel’s arms, hands curling around his and tangling their fingers together so tightly it almost hurt. “Why not?” Dean’s voice was small and Castiel had to swallow hard around the painful lump in his throat.

_ Love is patient. _

“I… I don’t want to talk about this right now.” Castiel shook his head, squeezed Dean’s fingers tight. “You’ve been through a lot and my father just di-”

“Oh,  _ shit _ , Cas!” Dean’s exclamation startled a yelp out of Castiel and Dean’s hands were shaking his off to cup Castiel’s face hard. “Oh, God. I’m… fuck! I’m such an  _ asshole _ .”

Castiel chuckled as Dean let his forehead clunk hard against Castiel’s, his hands going to Dean’s waist and patting him there lightly. “It’s… it’s okay. It’s weird. I don’t know…” Castiel heaved a sigh, letting himself sink into the intimacy of holding someone and being held under the shower spray. “I don’t know what I feel.” Castiel shook his head. “Nothing. I feel nothing.”

Dean’s eyes met his again, face somber. “Give it time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
> 
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	22. Love is Patient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean helps the Novak brothers prepare for the funeral. Howard has a final message for his boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: none

Dean was wrong.

In the coming days, Castiel continued to float. Through tying up what small loose ends there were at the funeral home—mainly paying the bill and listening to his brothers argue over which picture would go in the obituary, which one of them should write it. When neither Michael nor Gabriel could convince Luc to fly out, Castiel took a turn that consisted mostly of them sitting silently on the line aside from one small exchange:

“He was such a bastard.”

“I know.”

“I loved him so much, Cat-stee-el.” A shaking sigh rattled through the line.

“I know you did.”

“Are you going?”

Castiel’s turn to sigh, “Yes.”

“Piss on his grave for me.”

Before Castiel could respond, Luc had hung up.

Dean hovered through it all. On the fringe for the most part, he stepped in when necessary. Like when a nurse from Howard’s cardiologist’s office called for a  _ third _ time trying to ‘reschedule his appointment,’ Dean had snatched the phone from Castiel and given the woman an earful before slamming the phone down.

“That felt good, Cas. I’ll let you have the next one,” Dean had said before patting his chest and shuffling off to fix something around the house.

Mostly, Dean was there to stay next to Castiel while he laid awake, plagued by insomnia and a gnawing malaise that never blossomed into grief. They took turns reading passages of Slaughter House Five, watched dumb videos on Dean’s phone, and—when Dean couldn’t keep his eyes open—Castiel entertained himself by counting the freckles that swept across Dean’s nose.

Dean helped Michael clean out the barn, borrowed a truck from Bobby’s to haul away the trash, and got Sarah Blake from the auction house to assist Gabriel in setting up an estate sale in the fellowship hall for the rest of it. Dean pulled the Buick into the freshly swept space so Castiel could lay in the back seat unbothered. Sometimes Dean sat in the driver’s seat, manning the radio so commercials wouldn’t break Castiel’s doze.

The day of the wake, Dean knotted Castiel’s tie for him, then offered his hand and didn’t let go until the three brothers had to stand vigil while the whole town paraded by and expressed condolences at the early morning visitation. Services were held the next day, graveside, and though there were titters about Dean Winchester being in the front row with the family, arm slung around one of the Novak boys— _ the gay one— _ no one was dumb enough to make a scene. Now that one Alastair brother had been fitted for dentures at 33 and the other would never bend his elbow past 135˚, it was widely understood that Dean’s threat was a good one.

“Almost done,” Dean murmured in Castiel’s ear, making him realize he’d been fidgeting as yet another pastor stepped in to deliver a piece of the service. Dean shook open the program. “Your brother is going to read something and then it’s snack time.”

Castiel frowned at Dean, who raised his eyebrows, face situated into an innocent expression. Castiel shifted in his chair again, settling more into Dean’s armpit; the warmth of his body was welcome despite the tepid spring day. Gabriel stood from his seat, clearing his throat as he stepped behind the podium.

“My dad,” Gabriel swallowed, pulling a folded piece of paper from the breast pocket of his suit jacket, “sent this to me a few days before he passed, asking me to read it at his funeral when the time came.”

Castiel frowned, sitting up a little straighter in his seat as Gabriel cleared his throat then began to read.

“Gabriel, it’s my wish for you to share these words during my funeral service. I don’t think I have much longer, the choirs of Angels are getting ever louder. As you’ve known your whole lives, you were all named after angels. Michael: the sword of Heaven, my firstborn and, now with my passing, the head of our family. It’s up to you to charge forward, our lineage rests in your hands.” Gabriel paused to clear his throat and Castiel’s knee started to jiggle. Dean laid his hand on it lightly.

“Lucien, named for Lucifer the light bringer. He fell from God’s grace but I hope that you, my second-born, will find your way back into the fold.” Castiel’s hand clamped over Dean’s on his knee, anger—sharp and sudden—bursting to life in his chest. Dean covered it with his other, sandwiching it tight.

“G-Gabriel.” Gabriel wiped at his nose and cleared his throat. “Gabriel, my trickster, my joy and my strength. You gave me so much grief but made up for it with grandchildren.” Gabriel gave a watery laugh as the rest of the congregation rumbled with amusement, as well.

Gabriel cleared his throat. “Castiel.” Gabriel looked up at him and Castiel felt like a deer caught in the headlights. His fingers curled around Dean’s, who adjusted his grip to slot their fingers together and let Castiel squeeze hard. “Castiel, my youngest, you were born on a Thursday and while that was convenient—most translations of your name mean the Angel of Thursday—the less common interpretation is ‘Shield of God.’ You have always been uncommon, my youngest boy. You chose to live a life away from me and outside of everything I believed. I know you thought I was disappointed in you, or perhaps that I believed you’d failed me in some way, but that was never the case. These last months with you have given me both extreme joy at being able to finally know you and extreme sadness at having lost so many years to our mutual bullheadedness. You are a healer, Castiel, a shield against disease and illness, and you worked tirelessly at protecting me from The Veil. But we all have our time, son. I’ve never been prouder.”

Castiel turned and rested his forehead on Dean’s shoulder. He didn’t hear the rest of Howard’s words for those mourning his death. The roaring in his ears was so loud it was taking every bit of his concentration to stay seated and to breathe in the clean scent of his body wash on Dean’s skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
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	23. Love is Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel tries to process his father's last words to him and Dean helps him let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence

Castiel held a plate with potato salad and crackers in one hand while the other accepted condolences in the form of handshakes. He was in the packed living room of the farmhouse, the space warm with too many bodies, townsfolk swarming like blowflies on a carcass. He’d wedged himself into a back corner, hoping to go unnoticed but it was Wednesday, not his day. Given his father’s sweeping eulogy— _ who writes their  _ own  _ eulogy?  _ Castiel thought bitterly—he was the most popular man in the room.

During a blessed moment of reprieve, all conversation became a dull buzzing in the background and allowed him to take in the small front room with new eyes. Floral wallpaper that must have once been a wine color, now faded and grayed with time. Religious prints and paintings adorned the walls, with matching trinkets on what seemed like every surface. There was a small hutch at his hip dedicated to family photos, pictures of his great-grandparents, aunts and uncles he’d never met. The corner of his lip quirked up at Michael’s kindergarten photo, his dark hair parted and neat, looking like a five-year-old politician. Gabe’s was next to it, eyes squeezed nearly shut to reveal a wide, gap-toothed grin. Luc’s showed a sullen child, tousle-headed and slump-shouldered, without even the hint of a smile. Then there was Castiel, his dark hair sticking up in the back, eyes a wide, moody blue as if the camera snap had caught him off-guard. There were more recent photos of the others: Gabe with his boys, and Michael with his wife on some coast somewhere, even Luc in a fine suit posing with a young blond who was probably long forgotten, but only the one of Castiel.

_ I know you thought I was disappointed in you, or perhaps that I believed you’d failed me in some way, but that was never the case. _

Castiel closed his eyes as that horrible lump bubbled in his throat again.  _ Love is patient. Love is kind. _

“Castiel!” A woman who Castiel recognized from town without actually knowing her name threw herself into his arms and he managed to give her a few pats on her wide back. “Oh, Castiel, I’m so sorry you didn’t have more time with your father.”

_ Oh, I had plenty, _ his mind supplied unhelpfully and a great sense of shame and guilt and  _ rage _ washed over him. He simply looked at his shoes and nodded.

She moved on, dabbing at her eyes with a Kleenex, and Castiel breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps too soon, he thought as he felt a hand touch his elbow from the cased opening to the back hall. When he turned and found only Dean, the relief was palpable and by the faint tint on Dean’s cheeks, he’d read it clearly on Castiel’s face. He took the plate from Castiel’s hand and made a face as he stashed it on the hutch with the photos.

“Let’s get out of here.”

They snuck out the back entrance, hustling across the yard and into the barn. Castiel slumped against the Buick’s front fender, tugging hatefully at his tie until it came all the way off. He threw it on the ground, but Dean leaned to pick it up and hung it on a nail by the door, watching Castiel scrub his face hard with his hands.

“Sam says I should ask you to talk about it,” Dean said after a moment, and Castiel looked over at him, blue eyes fatigued beyond measure. Dean gave a shrug and a swirl of his hand, an invitation for Castiel to proceed. Castiel let out a humorless laugh, biting hard on his bottom lip.

“You know…” Castiel scoffed, shaking his head and finally letting his body jitter as much as it wanted. “It’s just… “ He sucked in a great breath and blew it out. “I can’t. I don’t even have words.”

Dean pursed his lips and shrugged, “That’s valid.”

“I mean…” Castiel raised a hand, blinking unseeing at the wall. “What the fuck  _ was _ that?”

He looked at Dean and Dean’s eyes widened, suddenly realizing it wasn’t a rhetorical question. “Uh… the speech?” Dean crossed his arms over his chest, shifting from foot to foot as Castiel nodded vigorously and gestured sharply with one hand. “Beats me, man. If he felt that way, he sure didn’t show it.” Dean winced. “I mean, I’m not saying he didn’t-“

“ _ He fucking didn’t _ !” Castiel bellowed and Dean jumped, leaning back to peer out the dusty window toward the house. His attention returned to Castiel when he stomped his foot, nearly slipping in his dress shoes. “He fucking  _ didn’t,  _ Dean,” Castiel sighed, letting his head hang back. “ And even if he  _ did _ ,” Castiel looked over at him, “It’s all way too little,  _ way _ too fucking late.”

Castiel crossed his arms over his chest. “And how fucking  _ dare _ he pull that shit at his  _ funeral _ ? How dare he strip me of my right to fucking… fucking…” Castiel’s fingers grappled at the air as he fought for language. “ _ Hate _ him by making some grand, sweeping gesture  _ that I don’t even get the chance to respond to?”  _ Castiel ripped his hands through his hair, sending it into wild disarray.

“He just _decides_ he gets to, to close out this relationship on a high note?” Castiel’s eyes were wide and wild, gesturing sharply with a pointed finger. “Without even consulting me?” His eyes narrowed. “Or even _attempting_ to talk through any of the-“ Castiel’s arms opened wide and punctuated each word with a stomp of his foot, “ _huge, reprehensible_ _issues_ that we had.”

Castiel was breathing hard now, walking in small circles. “And all those people in there? Saying ‘Oh, it’s such a shame you didn’t have more time.’ Yeah, it’s a big fucking shame he was a bigoted bully who never even  _ tried _ to make me feel like I wasn’t some kind of freak. How… how dare he just absolve himself of his sins simply by dying!”

Castiel hauled off and kicked the Buick’s tire, grunting in pain as his toes bent back, which only pissed him off more. He heard Dean hum softly, still leaning against the workbench in front of the car, arms folded, but one hand was now rubbing at his newly clean-shaven chin. He seemed to be deciding something, going over it in his mind. He must have come to some sort of conclusion, because he just heaved a sigh and nodded before turning to grab something from the workbench.

Castiel watched as Dean handed him an old, rusted crowbar, the weight of it dipping Castiel’s hand as he wrapped his fingers around it. Dean took a step back and gestured to the car. “Let ‘er rip.”

Castiel nearly dropped the crowbar as his mouth fell open, nothing but gurgles coming out because he couldn’t even  _ fathom _ . Dean nodded at him and gestured again, stepping back even more to lean back against the bench. Castiel gripped the metal bar in both hands, pulling it to his chest and leaning away from the Buick, looking at it with apprehension.

“Dean, n-no. I c-can’t,” Castiel shook his head, finally finding his voice. He couldn’t swallow past the lump in his throat.  _ Love is patient. Love is kind.  _ “You.. you worked so hard. You’re so p-proud of this car.” Dean gave an unaffected shrug. “B-but… all the money-”

Dean held up a finger. “Howard’s money.” Castiel growled, frowning hard at the Buick, fingers wiggling around the crowbar.  _ How good would it feel _ …

“Dean…” Castiel’s eyes found his and begged, that fucking lump throbbing in his throat.  _ Itdoesnotenvyitdoesnotboast it is. not. proud. _

Dean shrugged again, “Do what you gotta do, bud. Whatever’s broken, I’ll fix it.”

Castiel looked at him, then. Dean’s face was open and unworried, leaning casually against the workbench in a suit that made him look like he belonged on Wall Street instead of in some dusty barn in the middle of nowhere, Kansas, offering up something he had poured blood, sweat and tears into as a sacrifice to Castiel’s rage and grief.

Castiel sniffed, feeling a tear slip down his nose, and twirled the crowbar in his hand.

_ “Love is patient,” _ he said and Dean’s brow furrowed for the briefest moment before Castiel turned and swung as hard as he could, busting the driver’s side window with a satisfying crash.

Castiel felt his breath rushing in and out of his lungs as he looked at the glass littering the front seat and the concrete below him. He twirled the crowbar in his hand again. “ _ Love is kind.” _

He smashed the back window on the driver’s side.

_ “It does not envy.”  _ Shattered a tail light. _ “It does not boast.”  _ Shattered a turn signal. _ “It is  _ NOT _ proud.” _

Castiel wiped at his nose, hands stinging with the reverberation of his blows. “ _ It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking.” _

He lifted the metal bar again, taking out the passenger side tail light. “ _ It is not easily angered.”  _ The passenger side turn signal, gone. _ “It keeps no record of wrongs.” _

Castiel tossed the bar back and forth between his hands, panting now. He looked at Dean, who, by all rights, should have been backing out of the barn slowly. But he merely stood there, watching Castiel with curious interest. Castiel pointed the crowbar at him, solemnly telling him, “ _ Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.” _

Dean leveled his eyes on Castiel. “I believe you.”

_ “It  _ ALWAYS _ protects,”  _ Castiel smashed the back passenger window, curling into himself when the glass bit back at him, nicking his knuckles. Dean had pushed off the bench but Castiel held up a hand. _ “ _ ALWAYS _ trusts.”  _ He made sure to curl in when he hit the front passenger window to avoid the spray.

Dean whooped. “Give it hell, Cas!”

Castiel shook out his arms, shoulders and hands aching. But he still vibrated with rage, feeling it welling inside him, his throat hot and full, still unable to swallow. He raised the bar high above his head and let it slam onto the windshield, using the blows as punctuation.

_ “ _ ALWAYS _ hopes.”  _ SMACK _! _

Another “WHOO!” from Dean.

_ “ _ ALWAYS _ perseveres.”  _ CRUNCH!

Castiel rounded the front of the car, jonesing for a piece of unbroken windshield. Standing by the front fender he rained down three successive blows. “ _ Love”  _ SMACK! _ “never”  _ CRUNCH! _ “fails.” _ The windshield caved in and sunk to the dash.

_ “But where there are prophecies, they will cease,”  _ Castiel muttered, looking for something else to hit. He zeroed in on the side mirror.

Took a golf swing at the front fender. “ _ Where there are tongues, they will be stilled.” _

Then all along the driver’s side. “ _ Where there is knowledge,”  _ THUNK! _ “it will pass away.”  _ THUNK!

_ “For we know in part,”  _ THUNK! _ “and we prophesy in part,”  _ THUNK! _ “but when completeness comes?”  _ Castiel heaved a sigh, struggling out of his suit jacket and tossing it through the busted back window. “ _ What is in part disappears.” _

Castiel said the next lines through gritted teeth, his range of motion easier without the restraint of his jacket  _ “When I was a child,”  _ THUNK! _ “I talked like a child,”  _ THUNK! _ “I thought like a child,”  _ THUNK! _ “I reasoned like a child.” _

He shook out his arms, eyes lighting on the rear window, then redoubled his grip. “ _ When I became a man,”  _ he raised his arms, feeling a sob trying to work its way past his throat. He swallowed it down. _ “I put the ways of childhood behind me.”  _ The rear window shattered just as prettily as the others.

Castiel was near his exhaustion point, mouth dry, nose running.  _ “For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face.” _

He wiped his nose, “ _ Now I know in part;”  _ and swung over his head and down, denting the trunk with a mighty blow that buzzed all the way to his teeth.  _ “Then I shall know fully,”  _ another bone-rattling hit, “ _ even as I am fully known.” _

His teeth were clenched so hard then that every hit ground them harder together. The blows came faster and faster. “ _ Andnowthesethreeremain:”  _ THUNK!THUNK!THUNK! “ _ faithhopeandlove.” _

THUNK!THUNK!THUNK!THUNK!THUNK!

Castiel threw the crowbar, cringing at the deafening clang that reverberated through the barn as it hit the aluminum siding. He covered his head with his arms, spinning to sit flat on his ass, shoulders against the bumper as sobs hitched in his chest. He let his head fall back, sniffling and gulping as he wrapped his arms around his knees. He heard Dean’s boots making slow progress across the concrete and lowered his head to his knees when Dean sunk down beside him.

Castiel felt Dean’s arm sling chummily around his shoulder, tugging him in for a side hug and squeezing him in time with Dean’s heartbeat. His voice was only half-mocking when he said, “And the greatest of these,” Dean swept out a hand as if to indicate a magnificent vista, “Is love.”

Castiel snorted a laugh, resting his head against Dean’s shoulder. The lump was gone but his eyes still leaked and his breath still hitched. Dean rested his head on top of Castiel’s, humming what was—Castiel recognized after a few verses—a Metallica song. Castiel wanted to roll his eyes but instead grabbed a handful of Dean’s suit jacket and pulled himself in closer, prompting Dean to wrap him in a full-blown bear hug. Castiel’s eyes closed, and the last thing he heard before drifting off was Dean’s voice telling him it would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
> 
> [Visit me on Tumblr](https://deanwinchesterfirstofhisname.tumblr.com)   
> 


	24. Loose Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel and Michael make Castiel and offer. Dean tries to talk about his feelings and it goes about how you imagine it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: None

Michael and Gabriel asked Castiel if he wanted to keep the house the morning they were leaving to go back home. Castiel, having just woken up, and it being well before noon, had only been able to blink up at them in confused exhaustion. Michael started to talk about the will and Castiel’s mind drifted off, wondering where Dean had gotten to.

“Castiel. Focus,  _ please _ .”

“It’s too fucking early to focus, Michael.” Castiel rubbed his eyes. “Howard didn’t leave me anything in the will. He left me the Buick.”

“Which you destroyed,” Gabriel said slowly. “What was  _ that _ about, anyway?”

“Dean will fix it and I feel better, so it doesn’t matter.” Castiel took a sip of his coffee, eyes moody over the rim of his mug.

“O-kay… Well, we want you to have the house.”

Castiel blinked up at Gabriel, then looked to Michael to confirm that Gabriel must be joking. His oldest brother remained serious, however.

“You’re shitting me,” Castiel once again tried to confirm and his brothers shared a look before looking back at him. They both shook their heads.

“Look,” Gabriel pulled out a kitchen chair and Michael mimicked him, both leaning in. “You’ve done  _ a lot _ for this family, Kitten.”

“A  _ lot _ .” Michael intoned as an underline.

“You’ve helped me keep the lights on while my ex sucks me dry.” Gabriel then gestured to Michael. “You’ve business partnered with this idiot, who couldn’t make a dollar if he had a dollar making tree-”

“Hey!”

“-And Luc doesn’t give a shit. Did he ask you to piss on Dad’s grave, by the way?”

Michael looked at Gabriel, bewildered. “He asked you that?” Gabriel nodded but his eyes stayed focused on Castiel. “Did he ask  _ you _ that?” Michael frowned at Castiel and Gabriel rolled his eyes.

“Yes, yes, he asked everyone but you because you would never do it. You’re daddy’s little soldier. This is about  _ Castiel,” _ Gabriel sighed. “Anyway… we want you to have the house.”

Castiel looked around, blinking. “What for?”

Gabriel was clearly amused, despite Castiel not having told a joke. “Because of all the fond memories you have here.” Gabriel reached over and flicked Castiel between the eyes, something he’d done since they were children and always pissed Castiel off. “Think about it, Dingus.”

Just then, Dean came trudging into the kitchen, his gray t-shirt clinging to his chest with sweat and dirt streaking his arms and face. All three men watched as he sidled over to the sink and washed his hands before snatching a glass from the cabinet to pour himself some water. He turned towards the room, head tipped back as he sucked the entire thing down, giving a quiet hum of pleasure. He sighed as he pulled the glass from his lips tugging at his shirt to fan himself. Dean’s eyes fell on the group and immediately froze.

“What’d I do?”

“Walked in here looking like sex on legs, you asshole.” Gabriel scoffed while Castiel hung his head to hide his blush and to confirm that yes, one could see the lump of his semi at the front of his sweats.

Dean gave Gabriel a tart smile before flipping him off and refilling his water glass, then stepped up behind Castiel and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Castiel lifted his head.

“No termites. Foundation looks good.” Dean patted him twice. “Gonna run out and get some caulk for that leak in the bathroom. You guys need anything?”

Gabriel squinted at Dean, a finger pressed to his lips. “When you ask for  _ caulk, _ do the hardware store girl’s panties just fall off or-”

Michael smacked Gabriel upside the head as Castiel scowled across the table at him. “You know, I’m beginning to question your sexuality, Gabe.”

Gabriel snorted, “Him walking around like that makes  _ me _ question my sexuality.”

“Aaand I’m leaving now,” Dean drank half of his glass and set it beside Castiel before sauntering out of the room. Castiel watched him go.

When he turned to look at his brothers again, they were staring at him expectantly. Gabriel leaned in, speaking loudly and slowly, “We figured you’d want to keep the house.” Michael pressed his lips together in a  _ duh _ expression and gestured after Dean, for good measure.

#

“Mermaids are not scary.”

Gabriel scoffed, his hand thumping the seat back as he turned on his hip to glare at Michael. “First of all, not mermaids. Sirens. Second of all,  _ they lure you to your death,  _ and if you crossed one with a snake it would be a slithering death stick that could attack you from land  _ and _ sea.”

Dean snorted, flicking his turn signal to change lanes. “Man, your divorce really messed you up, didn’t it?”

“Shut up, Winchester, it was your dumb question.” Castiel turned to look at Gabriel in the backseat just to visually confirm that he was, in fact, sitting with his arms crossed. He shared a look with Michael before they both sniggered softly. “And fuck you two assholes, too. This is not about Kali.”

“For once,” Michael muttered into the window. Gabriel reached over and slugged him hard in the arm.

“Children, children,” Dean intoned, glancing at them in the rearview. “So help me, I will pull this car over.”

“What’s your ultimate monster hybrid?” Castiel asked and Dean glanced over, eyes snagging as Castiel blinked balefully back at him.

“Eyes on the road, there, Winchester. I’d like to live to make my flight outta this shithole.”

Dean glared over his shoulder at Gabriel, rolling his shoulders and returning his eyes to the road. “You know, some of us  _ like _ living in this shithole.” Dean’s eyes cut to Castiel before he glanced away quickly. “You got the world’s biggest ball of twine.” Dean held out his thumb. “We are at the exact center of the conterminous United States-“

“You mean ‘contiguous,’” Castiel murmured and Dean turned his head, opening up his forefinger.

“ _ No _ , I mean ‘conterminous,’ which is the official term for it. Which you would _ know _ if you’d bother to get the official spiel from Rufus at the market.” Dean pursed his lips and Castiel shook his head, hiding his smile by looking out his window.

Dean just grinned and adjusted his wrist on the wheel. “Look, we got good people. Most people would give you the shirt off their back. It’s flat as hell, which makes for good drag racing. Not that I do that sort of thing.” Dean cleared his throat. “White Castle was invented here.” Dean turned in his seat to make eye contact with Gabriel. “ _ ICEEs _ were invented here.” Dean settled back, looking around outside the car. “I dare you to find me a better sunset in either of your shitty states.”

“I live off the coast of Florida, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes flicked to Michael in the rearview. “Yeah? How’re those hurricanes and oil spills treatin’ you?”

“About as well as your tornadoes and diabetes are treating you.” Michael grinned and Dean slapped the steering wheel eyes going wide.

“That’s  _ another _ thing. We have entire categories at our state fair dedicated to butter. Specifically frying it, which-“ Dean held out his hand, teetering it- “eh, but I will go to the mat over a deep-fried Oreo.”

Gabriel’s head flopped back against the seat. “Are we there yet?”

“What’s your monster hybrid, Dean?” Castiel asked with a sigh.

“Easy. Vampire/Werewolf.” Castiel’s brows drew in a small frown while Michael and Gabriel snorted from the backseat. Dean held up his hand, requesting silence. “Say it with me.” He wiggled his fingers. “Say it with me:  _ Were-pire.” _ Dean grinned at Castiel, who squinted back in disbelief.

“No.”

Dean gave him a deadpan look. “Come on, you know you wanna say it.”

Castiel bristled in his seat and muttered, “Are we there yet?”

When they finally arrived at the Wichita Airport, Dean helped Michael and Gabriel pull their bags out of the trunk of the Impala, giving each a hearty handshake while Castiel stood awkwardly at the back fender. Gabriel slung his duffle over his shoulder and opened his arms to his little brother, gathering him up in a hug.

“You stay safe, Kitten,” he muttered in Castiel’s ear. Castiel nodded against him and Gabriel pulled back, placing a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, looking seriously into Castiel’s eyes. “Anyone gives you trouble, you call us.”

Castiel felt a smile tug at his lips as he rolled his eyes. “Yes. Of course.”

Then it was Michael’s turn, stepping over with his rolling bag and crossing his arms over his chest as he regarded Castiel appraisingly. Castiel stood straighter, tilted his chin up, and Michael broke into a smile, snatching Castiel into a brief but rough hug.

“I’ve got all the paperwork going through probate. You’ll get a call from a Bela Talbot within a few weeks to get the deed sorted out.”

Castiel sighed. “Michael, this needs to be discussed more.”

Michael sighed. “If you don’t wanna stay-“ Gabriel let out a sneeze that sounded suspiciously like  _ you do _ and Michael fought a smile. “-you can sell it.”

Castiel felt Gabriel’s hand slap his shoulder. “God knows all of us owe you money.”

#

For once, Castiel was the one to crank up the radio in the Impala, using Dean’s usual method to banish silence, banish tension. Billy Joel set the scene from an Italian restaurant as they rolled down I-135. That sustained them until they reached the halfway mark when Dean finally reached over to lower the volume.

“So,” Dean cleared his throat.

Castiel stared out the windshield and waited. When Dean didn’t say anything else, he looked over at him, Dean’s eyes resolutely on the road. “So?”

“I just… thought that maybe we should… you know…” Dean brought a hand off the wheel to rub at the back of his neck. “Talk?” He winced hard.

Castiel blinked at him then looked back out the windshield. “Okay.”

Silence stretched. Dean sighed. “Do you have anything you want to  _ say?”  _ Dean asked, lifting a hand from the wheel.

Castiel tilted his head at him, confused. “Do  _ you?” _

Dean flopped back against the seat, letting his head fall back and muttering, “Oh my god,” under his breath before turning his head to his window. Castiel thought he heard, “Great advice, Samuel,” but couldn’t be sure. Dean sighed, looking back out at the road, with one wrist hooked over the wheel and a look of immense pain on his face. “I don’t know how to start.”

Castiel would have characterized it as a whine, except Dean Winchester didn’t whine. Outside of the bedroom, anyway. Castiel felt his face flush.

“Well, w-what do you want to talk  _ about _ ?”

Dean’s head whipped to look at him, a deep scowl painting his face. “You know,” he growled through gritted teeth, and Castiel’s head tilted to the side. Dean’s scowl melted and there was that sound again, high keening pulled from the back of his throat. “ _ Us,  _ Cas! I wanna talk about us!” Dean hit the steering wheel and cursed under his breath.

Castiel looked back out at the road. “Oh.”

Dean sputtered. “‘Oh?’ Just… ‘oh?’”

“What about it?”

Dean threw his hands in the air. “Okay, you know what? I can’t do this.” He reached for the radio knob, cranking it up so loud Castiel winced.

He glared at Dean while reaching to turn it back down. “I’m sorry. I… I don’t know what’s wrong with me. My cognitive function is… rusty.” Castiel rubbed his face and the perturbed set of Dean’s mouth softened.

“I’m sorry.” Dean reached over to rub Castiel’s bicep awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to… I know you’ve been going through some stuff.”

“So have you.” Dean waved a hand. “No, you have. I’m sorry I haven’t been a better friend to you during this time.”

Dean winced so hard his shoulders met his ears. He tried to huff a laugh but choked on it. “Welp… I guess that’s my answer.”

“Dean…”

“Nope,” Dean gestured, hand slicing through the air definitively. “That was perfectly clear. No need for an explanation.” He reached for the knob again but Castiel slapped his hand. “Ow!”

“Sorry,” Castiel said in a tone that implied he wasn’t remotely sorry. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Then what way did you mean it?”

“That you don’t need someone who’s thirsty for your dick as a support system while you’re navigating being out for the first time!”

Silence stretched and Castiel let his head fall back against the headrest. Dean’s lips twitched as he shifted in his seat. “You’re thirsty for my dick, huh?”

“Of course that was what you took away from that exchange,” Castiel’s voice was pulled from the base of his throat, exhausted suddenly.

They were quiet for a moment. “Cas, do you… are you really gonna go back to Chicago?”

Dean’s voice was small and soft. Castiel’s head lolled to the side to see Dean squinting out at the road, the hand on the wheel twisting hard, knuckles white. Castiel stared at him, stared for a long time, and Dean finally looked over at him. His face went leery.

“What?”

Castiel blinked slowly. “I don’t know.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose. “You don’t know? As in you don’t know ‘what’ or you don’t know if you’re gonna leave?”

“Both.”

Dean made a face and reached up to rub his neck. “Are conversations like this always this hard?”

“When you really care about them, they are.”

Dean’s head jerked, eyes meeting Castiel’s then skittering away, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he focused on the road again. He removed a hand from the wheel, offered it palm up without looking. Castiel stared at it for a moment before taking it, turning it so the back of his hand rested on Dean’s knee. They drove the rest of the way home in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
> 
> [Visit me on Tumblr](https://deanwinchesterfirstofhisname.tumblr.com)   
> 


	25. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel has a talk with John Winchester, Bobby Singer shows some pride and Dean and Castiel take a drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by the lovely [dmsilvisart](https://dmsilvisart.tumblr.com)
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, domestic violence, implied homophobia

It was near dark when the Impala trundled into the driveway at the farmhouse. Dean put her in park but left the engine on. He sat back, looking down at his feet near the pedals, shifting his hand in Castiel’s but not letting go.

“My brothers are giving me the house.”

Dean looked over at Castiel, eyes wide. “You couldn’t have told me that 250 miles ago?” He heaved a sigh, resting his elbow on the window’s edge and placing his head in his hand.

“That doesn’t mean I’ll stay.” Dean lifted his head, eyebrows raising in question. “It just means that…” Castiel’s breath puffed out his cheeks. “Leaving would be harder.”

A pause. “Because of the… house?” Dean’s eyes were trained on his face, his chin dipping down.

Castiel shifted in his seat, looking out the windshield. “Not just the house.”

Dean sucked his bottom lip into his mouth to force down his smile. “O-oh?”

Castiel glared at him. “Yes.  _ Oh _ .” Castiel rubbed his forehead before his hand slapped down on the window sill. “What the hell am I gonna do with this house?” He gestured at it.

Dean blinked at it. “Live in it?”

“I was miserable the entire time I was there!”

“Dude,” Dean shook off Castiel’s hand so he could throw it out and gestured to punctuate his words. “Free. House.”

“Oh,” Castiel chuckled darkly. “It was hardly free.” He shook his head. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

“What if we renovated it?”

Castiel looked at him. “We?”

Dean nodded with a shrug of his shoulder. “Yeah. Like we did with the Buick. You pay for supplies, I do the work.”

“You’d do all of that for free?” Castiel raised an eyebrow.

Dean’s head rolled on his neck, disarming Castiel with a boyish smile. “Wouldn’t say no to a case of beer, now and then. Or other things.” Dean actually winked at him and Castiel felt his face grow hot.

“Dean, my father  _ died _ in that house.”

Dean turned on his hip, his face imploring. “Cas, you swiped my gay v-card in that house.” His expression didn’t change when Castiel’s mouth popped open. “I’m just sayin’. It wasn’t all bad.” Dean leaned back in his seat.

“You want to keep the house I took your virginity-”

“Gay virginity. Very different and specific virginity. That will not ever be discussed with anyone outside of ourselves.” Dean’s eyes were serious as he raised his eyebrows. “Capiche?”

Castiel sighed, “Yes. I capiche.”

They were quiet for a minute. “You know, if you get rid of the wallpaper in the front room and add a window seat, that’d be a pretty great place to have your morning coffee.” Dean looked at Castiel and shrugged as if to say,  _ just sayin’ _ .

Castiel fought a smile. “I’ll think about it.”

Dean grinned. “Alright, well, think about it inside. I gotta go.”

Castiel’s face crumpled in alarm. “Where?” Dean sat back, amused, and Castiel fought a blush. “I mean, why?” Dean’s eyebrows rose and Castiel shook his head, closing his eyes. “I mean-”

Dean placed his hand on Castiel’s thigh, eyes closing as he nodded with a chuckle. “I know. I need clothes for work and…” He swallowed, fingertips digging lightly into Castiel’s thigh. “I gotta face my dad at some point.”

Castiel’s hand covered Dean’s immediately. “I’ll go with you.”

Dean’s face went deadly serious. “No.”

“Dean-”

“I said no.”

There was no arguing the subject, so Castiel just frowned his displeasure. Dean was unmoved. He nodded at the passenger door. “Out. I’ll text you and let you know how it goes.”

Castiel opened the door and slid out. He leaned over before closing the door, making sure that Dean’s focus was on him. “Be careful.”

Dean just gave him a sunny smile and a wink. “That’s my line.”

#

[](https://imgur.com/xSjHQah)

Castiel, freshly showered and shaved, rolled up to Singer’s Salvage and Auto in a haze of acrid smoke, the Monte giving a loud bang when Castiel killed the engine. He gave himself half a moment to regret trashing the Buick before he climbed out, grabbing the tote bag in the passenger seat. It contained a medley of cold salads, all courtesy of the good folks that honored Howard’s memory with covered dishes. He didn’t see Dean in any of the bays, doing his best to glance in each one while avoiding eye contact with any of the other mechanics who had stopped to leer at him.

Castiel strode purposefully towards the door to the front desk and stepped inside, finding a cranky-looking bearded man behind the desk fiddling with the computer. Castiel stepped up and the older man looked up at him. The patch on his coveralls said “Bobby.”

“Help you?”

“Yes, um, I’m looking for Dean Winchester?” Castiel’s voice lilted up at the end and the older man narrowed his eyes.

“You not sure about that or somethin’?”

Castiel frowned. “What? No, he’s who I’m here for.”

“Dean’s doing some accounting in the back office. Can I do something for you?” Bobby folded his hands on the desk and gave Castiel what was maybe a smile underneath the beard, though it was clearly a sarcastic one.

“O-oh. Uh, well, I brought his wallet.” Castiel pulled it out of his back pocket then,realizing he’d grabbed his own wallet, reached into the other back pocket and put it on the counter. “And, well,” Castiel lifted the tote bag. “Lunch. He gets a lunch break, right?.”

Bobby’s mustache twitched. “Oh, I see. You’re the Buick.”

Castiel’s head tilted to the side in confusion. Bobby sighed.

“Go on up.” Bobby stood to lift the counter, allowing Castiel access behind the desk and out into the garage. “Up the back stairs. Only door at the top. Can’t miss it.”

Castiel hesitated for a moment before shaking it off and striding forward. He kept his eyes straight ahead, chin tilted up, and ignored a few snide comments as he passed. He mounted the metal stairs, climbing high above the garage floor, and reached for the handle of the only door at the top, then paused to knock. Dean’s muffled, cantankerous “What?!” had a grin pulling at Castiel’s lips before he even got the door open.

It slid right off his face when Dean looked up from the paperwork in front of him. One eye was nearly swollen shut, his lips were busted in three places, there were bruises and abrasions on his forehead, and his left cheek bulged from the gauze in his mouth. Dean glanced up and then did a double take, muttering, “Oh, shit,” which came out more like, “Oh, zyit,” with his jaw clenched together to keep the gauze in place.

Castiel dropped the tote bag and dropped to his knees in front of Dean as he pushed back from the desk. Castiel’s hands reached to cup his face gently. “Who did this to you?”

Dean tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but hissed, one hand going to his side. “I’m fine. It’s really not as bad as it looks.”

“Who did this?” Castiel’s voice rose without his permission, trying to turn Dean’s head to get a better look at his eye.

Dean squirmed, trying to lower his head. His hands closed around Castiel’s wrists to tug him away and that’s when Castiel saw his knuckles, unmarked. He hadn’t fought back. “Stop, okay. It’s over. I handled it.”

Castiel’s face was calm but his eyes were a tempest and Dean stopped his squirming under the power of that wrathful gaze. “It was your father.”

“Cas…” Dean’s voice was a warning. “Cas!” He shouted again when Castiel stood abruptly, ripping the door open. Dean winced as he tried to scramble out of his chair after him. “Cas! Leave it!”

_ “John Winchester!” _ Castiel’s voice boomed in the garage, echoing off of all the hard surfaces and sending a tremor through every man there, despite themselves. Castiel trotted down the steps at a quick clip, aware that Dean was hobbling after him but he was single-minded at the moment.

“Who’s askin’?”

Every head in the garage turned to John, standing unruffled towards the back of the shop, clipboard in hand. Castiel jumped the last three steps, striding purposefully towards him. When someone stepped into his path to stop him, a quick evasion and mighty shove sent that man sprawling into the grill of a pickup, the man’s elbow hitting it so hard it caved in. Castiel was vaguely aware of Dean hollering his name, but he was honed in on John Winchester’s hands, the knuckles busted and bruised.

Castiel’s palms met John’s chest with a clap, giving him a savage push that had him pinwheeling off balance, the clipboard flying to the floor. John regained his footing and stalked forward, shaking his head with a dark laugh. Dean was between them, then, with a hand on each man’s chest, looking back and forth between them with apprehension.

“Come on now, Cas,” Dean’s tone was amiable, though Castiel didn’t know how he thought it would soothe him. Not when the gauze from his broken or knocked-out tooth made the nickname Dean gave him slur at the end. “Come on, this is all a big misunderstanding.”

The hand on his father’s chest patted to soothe and John’s lashed out, fist colliding with Dean’s broken ribs. The involuntary cry of pain Dean emitted as he fell back into a tool box tinged Castiel’s vision red. A savage jab with Castiel’s left hand broke John Winchester’s nose, flattening it against his face, and the resulting stream of blood that ejected from his nostrils painted the concrete red. There were shouts from the men around them, muffled under the sound of Castiel’s own breath and heartbeat. Castiel’s right hand grabbed a handful of John’s coveralls, keeping him from sinking to his knees, and he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. Not letting go of John, he twisted, bringing his elbow up and driving it hard into the face of the man behind him. The crack of a cheekbone echoed in his ear.

With his elbow already cocked back, Castiel was able to bring his fist forward in a savage blow to the side of John’s face, jabbing over and over again. The older man swung and hit him in the ribs hard enough to wind him, but not hard enough to get him to stop swinging. He could vaguely hear Dean yelling his name. Castiel’s grip on John’s coveralls was becoming harder and harder to hold as he sagged, barely fighting back any more.

“ _ What in the Sam Hill is goin’ on back here?!?” _

Castiel looked up to see the older man from the front office ambling over, his face red and furious behind his beard. Castiel let go of John, who sank to the ground.

“I got customers up there tryna-“ Bobby frowned down at John groaning on the concrete and trying to sit up. Bobby’s eyes moved to Dean, who was leaning heavily on the toolbox, one hand holding his side, looking torn between staying where he was and helping his father up. Finally, Bobby’s eyes fell on Castiel, chest heaving, blood dripping from his knuckles. “You did this?” Bobby looked down at John and then back at Castiel. “ _ You?” _

Castiel’s eyes went flat, spine straightening as he took a menacing step forward. Dean darted out with a hiss, planting a hand on Castiel’s chest. “Cas, Cas, no. Bobby’s fine.” Castiel cocked his ear at Dean but his eyes didn’t leave Bobby’s, the older man’s gaze just as impassive, though not unimpressed.

“Dean, get your boyfriend outta here-“

“ _ I am his boyfriend, _ ” Castiel roared in that voice that sounded like the hand of God had just descended smite the wicked and good, alike.

Bobby merely blinked at him. “I know tha-“

_ “And it doesn’t matter what any of you hateful,-“  _ Castiel whipped around to glare at the other men hovering nearby, who took a collective step back.  _ “Backwards, Neanderthal sons of bitches do to either of us. We love each other-“ _

Dean groaned, rubbing a hand over his flaming face and muttering a “Jesus, Cas.”

“- _ And there’s nothing any of you can do about it!” _

“Are you done?” Bobby’s tone was bored and Castiel whirled around.

“ _ NO!  _ I’m _ not!” _ Castiel took a deep breath but Bobby just held up his hand, wincing as he waved it at Castiel.

“Yeah. Think you are.”

Bobby turned and grabbed a box from under one of the workbenches where delivered parts waited to be sorted. He cleared his throat as he reached inside and unfurled a giant rainbow flag. Castiel blinked and Dean turned away, looking as if he wanted to melt through the floor. Bobby tossed the box aside, a handful of the fabric bunched in his fist. Even when he raised his hand above his head, it still skimmed the ground.

“This,” Bobby shook his fist, the flag swishing against his side. “Is going up there.” He jabbed a finger at the bannister overlooking the shop. “And anyone that has a problem with it can hit the unemployment line.” Bobby glared out at the group of mechanics who were looking at each other, some muttering. Bobby dropped his arm back to his side. “ _ Get back to work!  _ Elkins! Get over here and help Winchester, here, into the break room. Get him cleaned up.”

Everyone scattered, an older man coming to collect John, who glared at Castiel, then at his son. Dean ducked his head, shoulders slumping forward, and jumped when Castiel’s arm went around his waist. Dean looked up, eyes wide as he took in the sharp set of Castiel’s jaw and the deadly look in his dark blue eyes, and shifted into the embrace.

“Well, I guess I went and ruined the surprise,” Bobby scowled, lifting his fist and shaking it feebly. Castiel’s eyes shifted from Bobby to Dean, who was looking at the flag with distaste.

“Bobby…” Dean shifted from foot to foot. “You don’t gotta-”

“Too late. Already spent the $29.95. Take the rest of the day off. Get your boy outta here.” Bobby cocked his head at Castiel and made his way to the back stairs, climbing them slowly.

“This is absolutely mortifying.” Dean’s mouth hung open as he watched Bobby throw the flag over the bannister and tie each end to the railing. The older man gave them a perfunctory nod before disappearing into the office. Castiel felt a lump form in his throat.  _ Love is kind. _

“It’s actually very sweet.” His voice cracked a bit at the end. Dean looked at him and grinned.

“Aw, you getting teary-eyed on me, Kitten?”

Castiel’s head turned slowly, leveling his serious blue eyes on Dean. “Do not call me Kitten.”

Dean’s smile faded as he straightened his spine, giving Castiel a wide-eyed look and raising his palms in deference. Then he licked his lips and let his posture relax once more. “That was pretty hot, Cas.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and began to walk towards the open bay door, Dean ambling after him.

“Hey, slow down! I’m running at half-power, here.” Castiel stopped and waited for Dean to catch up, wrapping his arm around Dean’s middle. Dean threw an arm around Castiel’s neck, allowing him to take some of Dean’s weight. “Come on, let’s go for a drive,” Dean gestured to where the Impala sat at the end of the lot, digging into his pocket for the keys. Castiel moved to take them but Dean pulled back with an incredulous expression. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Castiel snorted, “You can’t drive like this.” He reached for the keys again, but Dean back-pedaled, holding the keys in the air.

“I drove myself here, this morning. I’m fine.” He hissed a quiet  _ ouch!  _ when he turned too quickly, hand covering his side again.

Castiel sighed, shoulders sagging and when Dean relaxed Castiel darted forward and snatched the keys, hurrying towards the driver’s side of the Impala as Dean barked out an offended “ _ HEY” _ behind him.

“Get in the car, Dean.”

“You… I…” Dean looked around perplexed as if he wasn’t sure how he’d managed to get himself into this situation.

#

Castiel realized where they were going only when the Impala’s tires shifted from gravel to dirt, Dean guiding him down a bumpy expanse of road towards a copse of trees. It looked different in the daytime, but what it lacked in stars it made up for in a blanket of wild flowers as birdsong carried on the late-spring breeze.

Castiel put it in park and killed the engine, the only sounds the ping of her cooling down and the rustle of leaves. Dean’s eyes stayed trained out the windshield, taking in the rolling hills of farmland and pastures. Castiel studied his profile, feeling as if he could spend forever staring at Dean Winchester’s face and still find something more to admire.

Dean reached up to rub the shell of his ear. “This was one thing I forgot to mention on the way to the airport the other day, one of the good things about living in Lebanon.” Dean gestured with a finger, before his hand fell back into his lap. “The views ain’t half bad.”

“Yes,” Castiel squinted, eyes still on Dean’s profile and Dean turned to look at him. “Good views.”

Dean shifted in his seat to hook his elbow on the seat back and gave a quirk of his head and a bashful smile. “Well, that was a good line. I’ll give you that one, Cas.” Dean’s eyes found Castiel’s again, giving him a flirtatious smile that Castiel cocked his head at.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

Dean’s face soured, “Told you I’m fine.” Rolling his eyes, he reached into his mouth to pull out the gauze, tongue prodding inside his cheek with a wince as he lifted his ass from the seat to shove it in his pocket.

“He knocked one of your teeth out.”

Dean snorted, “Nah, just bit my cheek. Wouldn’t stop bleeding.” Dean looked down into the footwell, watching his boot turn this way and that.

“You said it was ‘all good’.” Castiel made air quotes and Dean rolled his eyes before squinting out the window.

“It was.”

Castiel just gritted his teeth and shook his head. “Why wouldn’t you fight back?”

Dean fidgeted, dropping his head to examine his fingernails. He flicked his eyes to Castiel’s but couldn’t hold his gaze. Dean shrugged his shoulder, his voice soft, “He’s ma’ dad, Cas.” Dean shook his head again and frowned out at the sprawling vista before them.

“Are you mad I fought back?”

Dean’s cheek twitched in a wistful smile. “Nah. Nah, not mad. Just wish you hadn’t.”

“I won’t do it again.” Castiel reached out, the knuckle of his forefinger brushing the bolt of Dean’s jaw. “Unless he does this again.” Dean looked over at him, eyes holding Castiel’s. “Make sure he understands that.” Dean stared for a beat longer before he dropped his head and nodded.

Castiel’s hand began to retreat and Dean sucked in a great breath.

“So back there…” Dean shifted in his seat, jerked a thumb over his shoulder and looked back down at his feet. “You said…uh…” He paused, an embarrassed smile pulling at his lips as he shook his head. “You said we loved each other…”

Castiel sat very still in his seat, his hands now clasped in his lap. “That may have been premature.” Castiel peeked over to see Dean’s face fall, momentarily, before he could replace it with that unaffected, serious stare. “I-I meant for you.” Castiel’s fingers brushed Dean’s hand lightly. “I…” Castiel felt his tongue grow large in his mouth, his fingertips playing over scarred knuckles. “I already love you…”

Dean turned on his hip to face Castiel, his hand going to Castiel’s cheek, “I know.”

Castiel blinked, brows furrowing in confusion when Dean gave him a giddy grin. Castiel’s head tilted to the side and Dean’s smile faded.

“Like… like Han Solo…” Dean’s hand slapped onto the seatback. “Please tell me you’ve seen Star Wars.”

Castiel’s eye roll took over his entire body as he turned to face forward in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling out the windshield. Dean wiggled closer with a wince, fingertips light on Castiel’s bicep, but Castiel shrugged him off. Dean pursed his lips and tried again, his hand slipping around the back of Castiel’s neck.

“That was really,  _ really _ romantic if you’re a Star Wars fan.”

Castiel wanted to be mad but Dean said it with such conviction he could only roll his eyes again and bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. He took Dean's face in his hands and pressed a kiss to his forehead, fond of this idiot he was in love with, despite the fact that he was, well, an idiot. He caught Dean’s boyish grin in his peripheral vision as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to Castiel’s cheek. He let his eyes drift closed. 

Dean managed to wiggle closer, huffing and grunting with the effort, but he managed to get both arms around Castiel’s, trapping him in a hug as he rested his chin on Castiel’s shoulder. When he opened his eyes again, Dean’s soulful green eyes looked up into his and Castiel could only blink slowly and wait for the contact as Dean’s lips brushed his, feather-light and sweet.

When they parted, they peeked at each other through slitted eyes, Dean’s chin resuming its spot on the cap of Castiel’s shoulder. Dean adjusted his grip, threading his fingers against Castiel’s bicep and settling comfortably against him.

“Does this mean you’re going to stay?”

Castiel turned his head to press his temple to Dean’s and nuzzling his nose. “You could come with me, you know?”

Dean’s eyes opened wide, neck jerking back, but his hold managed to tighten. “What?”

Castiel let his nose brush Dean’s again, eyes soft, trying to calm the anxiety brewing in Dean’s. “I’m saying that if I decided to go, it would be because you were coming with me.”

“So…” Dean’s eyebrows furrowed. “So you’re staying?”

Castiel sighed, a smile pulling at his lips as he rested his forehead against Dean’s. “ Yes, Dean. I’m staying.”

“Oh. Good.” Dean shifted slightly and Castiel heard the click of Dean’s throat as he swallowed, eyes cast down so his long lashes laid against his pinkening cheeks. “Cause I love you, you know?”

It was mumbled, barely audible, but Castiel couldn’t fight his grin as he pressed his lips to Dean’s flushed skin. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Kudos are <3
> 
> Once again thank you SO MUCH to my wonderful artist, [dmsilvisart](https://dmsilvisart.tumblr.com)
> 
> And my awesome beta [Captain Haterade](https://captainhaterade.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [Visit me on Tumblr](https://deanwinchesterfirstofhisname.tumblr.com)  
> 


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